


New Beginnings, New Regrets

by dawnstruck



Series: Second Chances 'verse [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Action, Angst, De-aging, Domesticity, F/F, Gen, If a soldier loves you walk like a queen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now the most fucked-up family in all of Amestris was trying to play picture-perfect. That was just asking for trouble.</p><p>[Sequel to Second Chances, Second Thoughts]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday, 28th April 1923

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me thank you guys so so much for your wonderful feedback on Second Chances, Second Thoughts. I was really blown away. You are wonderful and I hope you will enjoy the sequel just as much.
> 
> For all of you who reveled in all the domestic bliss that SCST established... you're probably gonna hate me for this one because the first half of this story is gonna work hard on deconstructing most of that. :D
> 
> UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY!

****_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**Mustang Marches upon Central** _

_**Central City.** Earlier this year, following his premature promotion to the rank of General, Roy Mustang announced his intentions of moving both his office and private life to the capital and away from East City where he previously resided. This decision comes by no means as a surprise. Mustang has never made much of a secret out of the fact that he plans to become Führer, so his march upon Central is as much of a symbolic move as a strategic one. Mustang's confidence seems to be backed up by the support he receives both from within the ranks and from the populace, primarily due to his arguably good looks and his people skills. More than once has he been described as a “handsome devil” or “sweet-talking charmer.” _

_Yet 'smooth criminal' might be the more apt appellation. His war crimes during the Ishvalan Rebellion and his assumed involvement in the disappearance of Führer King Bradley pave his bloody path to the top. Mustang, however, seems intent on trying to make everybody forget his gruesome past. Upon being asked whether his paramour and former subordinate Edward Elric would accompany him to Central, Mustang made a point of emphasizing that, “Edward is as much a part of my life as my commitment to Amestris is, so of course he and our son will be by my side as always.” G.FALKNER_

 

“You shouldn't be reading that tripe.”

The voice breaks Edward out of his thoughts and when he glances up it is to find Roy awake and watching him.

“Yeah, well, you were reading it, too, weren't ya,” Ed points out and clears his throat.

“I'm sort of obligated to know what the press writes about me,” Roy reminds him wryly.

“What, your PR team doesn't give you the reader's digest version?” Ed tries to jokes but it falls flat when he sees the downturn of Roy's mouth, so he adjusts the slumped form of Alphonse who is fast asleep and draped over his lap, and goes back to staring out of the window, like he had done before he had picked up Roy's abandoned newspaper.

Outside, the scenery flashes by in smears of green and brown and blue, but around them the train carriage rattles loudly.

His tailbone hurts. He used to spent entire weeks on trains, but now that he is older even the cushioned seats in the first class seem rather uncomfortable. Or maybe that is just because of Al's dead weight.

“None of what that person writes is necessarily easy to digest,” Roy says quietly, glancing down at where Ed's fingers have creased the newspaper.

“I'd rather have them make up wild stories than not start thinking of their own at all,” Ed shrugs, vividly recalling how just a few years ago the tabloids had been singing the praises of Führer Bradley and the military in general, “Freedom of speech and all that.”

“Still,” Roy sighs, “I wish they wouldn't drag you into it.”

“Bastard,” Ed sticks out his tongue at him, “We're a double deal, don't forget that.”

That, at least, seems to pacify Roy and gives a muted smile.

“Dear passengers,” the speakers overhead announced in that moment, “We will soon be arriving at our final destination, Central City Station. We ask all passengers to exit and take all their hand luggage with them.”

“When we first met, it was at the station,” Ed remembers.

Roy's brow furrows, “We first met in Riesembol.”

“No,” Ed shakes his head, “I wasn't all there then. I wasn't-”

He takes a breath.

“Our first mission,” he says, “When we were on our way to Central and you set us up so that we ended up saving Hakuro and his family.” He shoots a look around the compartment, “We kinda are like that now, huh?”

Roy chuckles, “If we ever get held at gunpoint, though, I like to think that neither of us would need the assistance of two prepubescent boys.”

Of course not. There are no prepubescent boys now. There is only Edward, all of twenty-three years old, and his son Alphonse, recently turned seven.

“Yeah,” Ed agrees, his voice quiet, and runs a hand over Al's slumped back before nudging him gently. “Hey, kid. We're almost there so wake up, hm?”

Al rouses with a big yawn, a fist coming up to rub his knuckles into the corners of his eyes.

“Daddy?” he asks and smacks his lips, “Is Dandelion okay?”

Their calico cat had been rather enthused about the long train ride and had thrown a bit of a hissy fit until she had finally quieted down at some point, only giving an unhappy wail every now and then. Their other cat, Maple, had fortunately only curled up in her box and slept the whole way through.

“She's alright,” Ed soothes, “Probably just a little peeved.”

“She'll forgive us once she sees the new garden,” Roy adds, getting up from his seat to lift their hand luggage out of the overhead compartment while Ed peers past him and out of the window as their train gradually slows down, the familiar sight of Central Station greeting him.

Unfortunately, he can also already see a couple of journalists lurking at the platform, so he brushes quick fingers through Al's hair and straightens his shirt. Then he turns towards Roy.

“How do I look?” he asks, tugging his own ponytail back into shape, and Roy gives him a once-over.

“Perfect,” he decides and leans in to press a kiss to Ed's temple.

“You, however, still have shortbread crumbs all over your front,” Ed swats a hand at him, “So stop flirting.”

“It's not flirting if it's the truth,” Roy simpers, obviously not minding that it only makes Ed roll his eyes at him.

He grabs the two pet carriers while Al insists on carrying his tiny red suitcase, and together they all bustle out of the private compartment and then get off the train.

They are not exactly swarmed by journalists but Edward really wishes that after the long ride they could just get into the car and drive home. Well. Their new home which would, as of now, still be filled with unpacked moving boxes, so relaxing there wouldn't be much easier.

“General Mustang, sir,” a man approaches, politely lifting his hat, but in his other hand he is carrying a notepad, “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“I will be available for interviews once I have settled into my office,” Roy replies with a showy smile that chases the tiredness from his face, “I am sure you will be able to arrange something with my secretary.”

“Mister Elric,” a woman in a trench-coat butts in nevertheless, “Is it true-”

“Daddy is a professor now!” Al pipes up, looking up at her with wide guileless eyes, “And Father says it's important to always address people with their proper rank and titles. Except for Uncle Jean who'll always be 'that idiot Havoc'.”

The woman looks a little stunned at the outspokenness and Edward swallows an amused snort.

He's never been good with journalists, not now and not when he had been a belligerent teenager. But he understands the need to leave a good impression on them. One way or the other, people will believe what they read in the paper. So to win the people over, one had to get on the reporters' good side.

He grits his teeth and gives the pack of wolves a smile that he hopes won't look too forced.

“Are you looking forward to living in Central?” a short man asks, trying to peer past a tall red-headed woman.

“Of course,” Edward answers sunnily, “I used to spent a lot of time here when I was younger, so I'm familiar with the city itself. But properly living and working here will be a whole new experience.”

In all honesty, he wants to flip them off. He wants to yell in their faces and curse them to hell and back. But he can't do that, not here. After all, Roy had always supported him. It was time that Edward learned to do the same.

Sharp steps on the ground have him glancing to the side where a young woman in uniform approaches them at a quick pace, her brow pinched as she subtly glares at the salivating journalists.

She's a sergeant, probably not much younger than Ed is, but her posture screams military etiquette in a way that Ed had personally never cared for.

“My apologies, General Mustang,” she says with a snazzy salute as she comes to a halt in front of them, “There were journalists lurking around the car as well and I tried to get them to leave.”

“Did they?” Roy asks with an quirk to his lips.

“Ah,” she hesitates, gaze dropping off to the side, “After some persuasion.”

“Very well, Sergeant Dornier,” Roy nods, “Where have you parked the car?”

“Just outside the station, sir. If you'd follow me. And may I carry some of your luggage?”

“I carry mine!” Al insists, lifting the suitcase out of her reach, and Edward does the same with the pet carriers. Sergeant Dornier, however, looks a little mortified at not being allowed to completely fulfill her duties so it's Roy who eventually surrenders his burden to her.

They politely extricate themselves from the siege the reporters have laid on them, leave the platform and make their way out of the station, garnering some curious glances here and there. They are not necessarily attention-grabbing per se, but Roy does appear on the newspaper a lot and even people who do not closely follow politics must vaguely recognize his face.

Luckily, Sergeant Dornier does have the car parked directly out on the curb, so they quickly load the luggage and get inside.

“It's a twenty minute drive,” she informs them as she gets behind the wheel, Roy in the passenger seat while Ed and Al ride in the back, “The last of your belongings were delivered yesterday afternoon.”

“Wonderful,” Roy tells her.

Ed stares out of the tinted window.

 

“Is there anything else you might need, sirs?” Dornier asks as she accompanies them to the front-door.

“Nothing as of now. Thank you,” Roy says but then reconsiders, “Do you happen to know any restaurants who do deliveries? I've had nothing but sandwiches all day.”

“And shortbread,” Ed reminds him.

“There's a decent Xingese place downtown,” Dornier replies thoughtfully, “Shall I place an order for you?”

“That would be marvelous,” Roy nods, “Just order whatever comes recommended. We're not picky.”

“I want dumplings,” Al says.

“Dumplings it is then,” Roy agrees and ruffles his blond hair.

They bid Dornier a good afternoon and she promises to pick up Roy early on Monday morning.

Then it's time for them to finally inspect their new house.

Roy had picked it, and so far Ed had only seen the blue-prints as well as a single photo, so he doesn't quite know yet what to expect as they unlock the door to let themselves in and begin their expedition.

He had already known that this house would be bigger than their old one, but he still feels conflicted about it. On the one hand, their bedroom and the shared study had admittedly gotten too cramped over the years for them to really comfortably get any work done so a bit more space would be welcome. On the other, this new home seems less like a safe haven and more of a status symbol.

They now have a guest room and a dining room for entertaining company, a modern kitchen with a large pantry, two fully equipped bathrooms. Then there is Al's room, the two studies slash libraries, the living-room, and their own lavish bedroom. And that isn't even mentioning the backyard that is surrounded by a huge hedgerow of boxwood.

It feels sterile, and Ed tries to tell himself that it's only because they haven't properly moved in yet. Once all the boxes have been unpacked, everything will become much more homely.

“Daddy, can I let Maple and Dandelion into the garden yet?” Al asks excitedly.

“Probably for the best,” Ed answers, considering the cats had spent the entire day in their carrier boxes and had not been allowed to eat or drink much for the journey, “Put them on a leash, though. They don't know the neighborhood yet and might get lost.”

It was a posh neighborhood. People probably kept guard dogs and whatnot to protect their primroses.

He watches as Al opens the carriers and coaxes the cats outside, Dandelion looking indeed a little cranky, Maple just giving a huge yawn and letting herself be picked up, pushing her head against the underside of Al's chin.

With a small sigh, Ed turns to randomly open one of the carton boxes that are stacked in the living-room, one that is randomly labeled as 'books'. He would have to carry them up to his study and put them into order. He owned so fucking many it would be a right hassle.

Suddenly, Roy is behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder

“You don't like it,” he notes quietly.

“Hm?” Ed feigns ignorance, running a finger over one of the book spines, mouthing the title to himself.

“The house,” Roy clarifies, “You don't like it.”

“Nah, I'm just tired,” Ed waves him off, “The prospect of living out of boxes for the next few days is not exactly motivating.”

“I can send some privates over to help you unpack,” Roy offers and Ed gives an inward shudder at the thought. Having a bunch of strangers with their grubby fingers all over his belongings would not exactly make him feel more at home.

“I can manage,” he shrugs and then stretches his arms over his head, cracking his vertebrae.

“That window, however, should be over there,” he points out, “Also, a solarium would be neat.”

He hears Roy chuckle.

“Whatever you want,” he allows, “Just don't destroy any support walls, alright”?

“I'll try,” Ed drawls out and claps his hands.

 

They eat Xingese food on the couch in the living-room, Al happily munching away on his dumplings while Ed's automail fights with the chopsticks.

“I could feed you,” Roy offers innocently, but it turns into a filthy grin when Ed shoots him a glare.

Afterwards, they unpack the necessities, set up their bedrooms for the night, put the toiletries into the bathroom.

It's only early evening, but a day on the train is more exhausting than it might seem. Ed gets Al to brush his teeth, but then the boy falls face-first onto his pillow, the already sleeping cats barely even twitching an ear.

“I think I'll prepare the kitchen,” Ed muses as he closes the door to Al's room, “So we won't have to tomorrow morning.”

“I have an idea,” Roy puts an arm around his waist and pulls him close, “How about we take an early morning walk together and discover the neighborhood? And then we'll go buy some croissants, come back here and have a picnic breakfast in the garden?”

“Hmm,” Ed hums, “And what do you propose we do now?”

“Well,” Roy pretends to think for a moment, “We still need to break in our new bed.”

“Pff,” Ed rolls his eyes, “You say that as though we've been living here for weeks and haven't had the opportunity yet.”

“If it weren't for Alphonse, I would already have made love to you on the floor of every single room in this house,” Roy tells him, his voice low.

Ed barks out a laugh, “There are a dozen rooms here, and that's not even counting the supply closet.”

“I am counting the supply closet,” Roy promises, “And you obviously underestimate my abilities.”

“Oh?” Ed cocks an eyebrow, “Maybe you should give me a demonstration?”

The demonstration has Edward inspecting the bedroom from various angles and in various positions. He thinks there is a special advantage to still being young and flexible while having an inventive and experienced lover.

Not that Edward considers himself inexperienced after such a long time, but he still shame-facedly remembers the early days of their relationship when he had practically bullied Roy into sex. He doesn't exactly regret it because of the good things that had come out of it, but sometimes he wishes that their beginning hadn't been quite as bumpy.

He knows that Roy has a love for grand romantic gestures and back then he had never given him the opportunity for any of that, no courtship, no conquest, just Edward once more being driven by the hunger for what he wanted most in life.

Turns out that Roy's love was much easier to acquire than the Philosopher's stone. Fewer dead people involved, too. Instead, there are orgasms and Edward's hips still stuttering with the aftershocks, his lips mouthing against the palm of Roy's marvelous hand, the arm cushioning his head.

“So?” Roy purrs into his ear, “What's your verdict?”

“Still twelve rooms left,” Ed grins, “I hope you haven't exhausted your entire repertoire with this.”

“The only thing I've exhausted here is you, it seems,” Roy says, running his other hand down along Ed's belly, “But if you want another round...”

“Ugh, go away,” Ed pushes at his shoulder, “After that hellish train ride, my ass can't take any more abuse.”

“Abuse?” Roy echoes, scandalized, “But weren't you repeatedly begging me for more? Or are you a masochist? Is that it?”

“Well, how about I do you instead?” Ed snarks, gleefully watching Roy wince.

“Not if I have to lift heavy boxes all day tomorrow,” he says and Ed huffs, “Thought so. Another time then.”

“Another time,” Roy agrees and nuzzles his cheek, making Ed relax back into the pillows and enjoy these more tender affections, the ones he hadn't understood in the beginning, the ones that make him sleepy and warm instead of hot and wide awake.

Roy is so attuned to where he has to touch him to get the best kind of reactions, knows where Ed is ticklish and which spots have him purr like a kitten or make him inexplicably horny. And in turn Ed has come to learn similar things about Roy, knows how to make him laugh or moan or give that sensually languid smile that Ed prays he'll never use in public because Ed is such a sucker for it.

The first tendrils of gray have begun to tentatively creep into Roy's hair, not white, not silver, but dark like slate at his temples. The furrows on his brow have deepened but so have the laughter lines around his mouth and his eyes. He is still such a handsome fucker that Ed cannot believe his overall luck.

Yet the age difference between them is undeniable, so he understands why they get so many odd looks. It's even worse when they add Alphonse to the mix who is obviously not related to Roy by blood but who also looks too old to be Edward's son. They are a ragtag little gang, but that has always been Edward's definition of family.

Not that he gives an actual fuck about anyone's opinion anyway. As long as he has this, he has no complaints in life. He just has to believe in it hard enough till there is no more room for doubs.

Roy seems to be reading his thoughts, as he does so often.

“We'll be happy here,” he tells him with gentle conviction, “We still have each other, after all”

“I know,” Ed says, his eyes turning towards the ceiling, “I know, just... gimme some time, okay? I'll get used to it.”

He had needed to get used to the old house, too, after all. Get used to doing laundry and buying groceries, to sleeping in the same bed every night, to not expecting death lurking behind every corner. Home was not an easy concept for Ed, but once he felt safe somewhere he never wanted to leave. That's why he had never accepted Pinako's offer to just move in with her and Winry, why he had thought it a necessity to burn his mother's house later on.

Home isn't a place, he reminds himself. Home are the people you love and who love you in return.

“When you make Führer,” he says, only to watch Roy preen because he said _when_ instead of _if_ , “I don't want to move into the mansion. I want a normal home in a normal neighborhood. That's what Al needs.”

To be frank, he really hadn't wanted to leave East City, but he understood the necessity of it. Not only does it allow Roy to properly join the board, but his eventual campaign would be easier to run from Central as well.

Not to mention that Alphonse would be starting school soon and that Edward could start teaching full-time with a better faculty, better facilities to aid him in his additional research.

He still wishes things could have stayed the way they were before.

“Nothing much will change,” Roy promises, though he had already hinted at the fact that the Führer's family would be assigned 24/7 security detail, that he would have to travel even more than before, that nothing in their lives would ever not be picked apart by the press.

“We'll still go for walks and take Al to the fair,” he continues soothingly, “We'll go on vacation together and pull all-nighters talking alchemy. And whenever you wear that waistcoat I will still be overcome by desire and fuck you against the nearest surface.”

With the last words, he grabs Edward and pulls him on top of himself, making Edward let out a tiny yelp. They wrestle around for a bit before Ed settles his cheek against Roy's chest, the heartbeat trusted and steady.

They lie like that, in this strange house yet in familiar embrace, just feeling each others' naked skin.

“Do you doubt me?” Roy asks into the silence.

“No,” Ed murmurs, vaguely shaking his head, “'course not.”

“Six years, Edward,” Roy reminds him.

“Yeah,” Ed says and runs a thumb over the ring on his finger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	2. Wednesday, 16th May 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If Elric is a great dad but a shit teacher, then maybe Mustang would make a great spouse but a shit Führer.”

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**Publicity Circus** _

_**Central City.** Settling into his new home and his new office, General Mustang has no qualms about displaying his private life in public. Last weekend he was seen taking his family to the circus, carrying his beau's son on his shoulders and proudly parading around in front of the civilians. This behavior is a sharp contrast to Mustang's younger days, years spent on womanizing and sowing his wild oats. Considering his home background, however, is it obvious where his commitment issues may stem from. Mustang grew up with his late father's sister, the proprietor of a notorious night club which offers female companionship to those seeking it. Without any funds to call his own, his chosen career path within the military was just one story among many others of young men like him. Mustang himself is cunning, calculating, cold-blooded. But can an upstart like him really bring the peace he promised? His recent attempts of showing off his family seem more like publicity stunts than anything else. Didn't Bradley do the same, presenting himself as a kind and caring father? (For readers' comments on the matter see pp.4-5) G.FALKNER_

 

“How's that shit even getting published in a respectable newspaper??” Ed hisses, throwing the tabloid down onto the breakfast table. Across from him, Roy clucks his tongue.

“Edward, love, there is no such thing as a respectable newspaper,” he reminds him with vague humor, “They all want their pound of flesh and they know exactly how to get it.”

Ed bites the inside of his cheek.

“Doesn't it bother you, though,” he asks, “The crap they write about you?”

Roy's shoulders lift and slump in a shrug.

“I used to polish my image as a flirt so people would underestimate me,” he admits, “Now I am getting the pay-back of that strategy. And it's not like they are wrong about my background and my former commitment issues. They just got the interrelation wrong.”

“The thing about us, though,” Ed says tightly, “That's bullshit.”

“Bullshit, indeed,” Roy nods and leans back in his chair, “But no matter what I do they will take offense to it in one way or another. Show myself in public? It's all just pretense. Try to be more private? What does he have to hide? I'm afraid that's how sensational journalism works.”

Pensively, Ed stares down into his coffee cup, though he can still see the blasted newspaper from his periphery. At least he and Al had mostly been left out of the crossfire this time, but the underhanded implications that article made were still outrageous.

'His beau's son', they had called Alphonse. Which made Edward Roy's beau and limited him to nothing but his looks and how well he seemed to be spreading his legs. Not to mention that it totally demeaned the role Roy played in Al's life.

No, Roy wasn't Al's biological father. But neither was Ed, even if few people knew about that.

The only truth that mattered was that they were still Al's parents, that they had raised him together for all of seven years, from the very first day. That part of their dynamic was older and more profound than the sex or the love or literally anything else.

But 'loving family of three tries to build a future' apparently wasn't as catchy a headline as 'illicit affair continues at the cost of child's innocence'. And now the most fucked-up family in all of Amestris was trying to play picture-perfect. That was just asking for trouble.

 

He has an afternoon class that day and so far he had always relied on public transport to get to uni. Today, though, he cannot help but notice how people are staring at him and Al, cannot make out whether their gazes are judgmental or merely curious.

Fortunately, Al seems oblivious to it, excitedly chatting away about the novel he read last night – even though Ed damn well knows that it must have been past his bed time – and even striking up a conversation with an elderly lady, politely asking whether he might pet her Pomeranian.

“Hello,” Al says, careful fingers scratching between perked ears, “What's your name?”

“Valentine,” the woman answers in her dog's stead, “And who would you be?”

“My name is Alphonse,” Al replies with a sunny smile, “I have two cats, they are called Maple and Dandelion, but Dandelion is more of a dog really, she loves playing fetch and even goes for a swim sometimes.”

“Ooh, my Valentine hates getting wet,” she laughs, “And whenever I give him a bath he just finds the nearest puddle of mud to roll around in directly after.”

They chat for a while, Edward's just looking on in silently fondness, his bad mood slowly dissipating.

“Such a precious little boy,” the woman tells him when they finally reach their stop, “His mother must be really proud, hm?”

Edward's stomach plummets and he just jerks out a nod before pulling Al off the bus with him. Al, of course, has not missed the faux pas.

“Daddy,” he tries, tugging at Ed's hand to make him slow down, “Daddy, it's okay.”

It's not, though. Because like everyone else, Al only knows the bare minimum about his origin. His supposed origin.

He knows that he is the result of an unhappy one-off between Edward and an anonymous girl, that his daddy decided to raise him on his own but that he ended up falling in love with the man that Al now calls father.

Al is a mature kid and quite perceptive at that. He thinks that the reason Edward clamps up every time when someone mentions his alleged mother is because he still regrets what happened between them, regrets that Al does not have a normal family.

Al does not know that his real mother died back in Riesembol fifteen years ago, that she is the woman he thinks of as grandma when they go visit her grave. He does not know that he and his big brother Edward had been crying at that grave and made an oath to bring her back. He does not know that this oath, in a terrible and twisted way, is the reason he thinks himself an only child now.

So, no, it's not okay and it never will be, but Edward has made his fragile peace with that a long time ago, so he slows his pace and runs his thumb over the back of Al's s small hand in his, not needing to say anything.

They make their way to the university grounds, dropping by Ed's office to grab some stuff, before strolling to the lecture hall. Al is still amazed by everything, craning his head to look here and there, despite the fact that it doesn't look much different from East City University.

But back there, people had known them. Back there, people had greeted them and waved at Al and asked Edward about which paper he was currently working on. Here, they are still strangers. Here, everyone looks confused at the presence of this young man who is hailed as a genius by some but who drags along his little son and has nothing but contempt for everyone else.

Al sits down in his usual seat right in the front row, pulling his folder out of his backpack, and together they wait for the rest of the students to fill in.

Some of them are slightly younger than Ed, but most of them are older. This is an advanced class after all. Two girls offer Al friendly smiles and one guys winks in a amicable fashion, but no one else sits down up front. Al doesn't seem to mind, sharpening his pencils. Ed clenches his fists.

“First things first, I'll be returning your papers from two weeks ago,” he announces without preamble and everyone sinks lower in their seats because if Izumi has taught him anything then it's how to use a strict teacher voice.

“For the most part, you did well,” he concedes, handing out the stack of papers and watching as it makes its way through the rows, everyone picking out theirs and quietly groaning at the all the red in the margins, “There were no major mix-ups with the symbols like last time. So good work on the theoretical part, but your practical attempts were slapdash at best. If you wanna scribble, go study art. But this is alchemy. You cannot afford to be sloppy. Imprecise arrays can cost you dearly.”

Alchemy at university has become a bit of a trend in recent years. Training under one specific mentor is no longer the only way to do it. It offers new opportunities to those who might never have the chance otherwise as well as broadening the horizon of general alchemy by combining different fields. It also offers greater risk, especially since virtually anyone who gets accepted into uni can try their hand at alchemy and wreak havoc on the way. Edward wishes to weed them out.

“Has everyone read chapters 3 to 6 of Introduction to Alkahestry?” he asks loudly, turning to the blackboard, “If not, you might as well leave now because the rest of this session won't make much sense to you.”

He reiterates the principles of Xingese alchemy, jotting down bullet points and then abruptly twirling around, “What does that mean if we compare the practicalities between our alchemy and alkahestry? Sofia?”

“Uh,” the girl jerks, sitting up straight, “Like, in the transmutation process?”

Ed gives a curt nod, “The transmutation, the ingredients, the set-up of the array.”

“Uh,” she wildly glances between him and the board, “Well, in alkahestry you generally have two arrays, soo...”

“So?” Ed prompts, “Anyone?”

Mallory hesitantly raises his hand, “The first array is usually there for the actual transmutation while the second ensures the transfer, so to speak?”

“Yes,” Ed says, “Now you only have to stop voicing your answers like questions.”

He raps his knuckles on the board, “So, what I want you to do is to figure out to do basic arrays, not for a transmutation but just the transfer. You got that?”

“What are we meant to transfer?” Killian asks from the back.

Ed grins, “Good question.”

He pulls a thick candle from his bag and places it on his desk before deftly reaching into his pocket and pulling on a white glove, a neat array stitched onto the back. A snap of his fingers and the candle lights up. An amazed titter goes through the auditorium. Edward smirks privately. Let it not be said that he hasn't picked up a thing or two during the time he's spent by Roy's side.

Only one person is not impressed by the display of his skills.

“Daddy,” Al chides, “Father said you're not supposed to steal his gloves.”

Ed narrows his eyes at him, “Well, you're not going to tell on me, are you?”

“Daddy!”

“You can have chocolate for dinner tonight,” he promises with a toothy grin and that does indeed make Al shut up quite readily. Some of the students laugh but Ed shoots them a glare.

“You have fifteen minutes,” he reminds them, “Chop chop.”

 

Once the fifteen minutes are up, he stands in front of the class with his arms crossed, sharply scanning the rows.

“Volunteers?” he asks simply and watches with grim satisfaction as at least some hands come up.

“Mallory,” Ed beckons him down and makes a sweeping gesture towards the candle, “Do you worst.”

The Cretan boy swallows nervously as his makes his way up front, shuffling his papers as he arranges one array and then places the candle on the other.

“Here goes nothing,” he mutters to himself and then activates the circle. At once, the other one begins to glow as well. A split second later, the candle appears within its middle.

A hush settles over the class. Then someone lets out a low whistle and people are laughing. Mallory rubs a knuckle over his temple, looking relieved.

Edward applauds slowly but then lets it putter off.

“Well done,” he praises, but with a lilt in his voice that has everyone on edge again, “But aren't you forgetting something?”

“Uh,” Mallory looks alarmed, quickly bending over his arrays again.

Ed snaps his fingers. A flame darts up, lighting the candle once more, and Mallory jerks back in surprise.

“The fire,” Ed reminds him pointedly, “You only transferred the wax and the wick and kept it together, but you forgot to consider the flame. Did anyone integrate it into their circles?”

Mallory slinks back to his seat while everyone else slumps down again. Only one hand comes up.

Ed smiles.

“Yes, Al?” he asks.

“I would like to try,” Al says confidently, already getting up from his chair and bustling towards the desk. He can barely even reach it, but he arranges everything neatly before glancing towards Ed to check for permission. Ed gives an encouraging nod, and only then does Al activate the array.

As before, the candle reappears within the confines of the other circle. This time, though, the fire has not been extinguished. Instead it leaps up towards the ceiling before sizzling down to a normal height.

“Good,” Ed says, “You wanna explain to the class which symbols you used?”

“There's the salamander for fire, obviously,” Al says, “But I also used the serpent to strengthen the connection between the arrays, and the swan to ensure that the flame made the leap.”

“The swan symbolizes the dry pathway,” Ed points out, “You wouldn't really have needed it in this climate. But it's okay to make extra sure. What was your mistake?”

Al purses his lips, “I didn't properly configure the air supply. The flame consumed too much oxygen and shot up at first.”

“And this is why I am allowed to play with your father's gloves while you are not,” Ed reminds him, eliciting a snicker from the class. Ed bites the inside of his cheek and ignores them.

 

He's got twenty minutes before his office hour starts so he and Al decide to take their lunch outside and have a quick picnic under one of the trees.

They both dig in heartily, the famous Elric appetite making an appearance once more, but Al is still tiny and therefore quite satisfied after only two sandwiches, having neatly chewed around the crust.

Ed cocks an eyebrow at him, “You're supposed to eat those, too, you know.”

“But I want to feed the ducks,” Al tells him and bats his eyelashes. Ed sighs.

“Fine,” he says, “Go feed the ducks. But don't fall into the pond.”

“I won't,” Al promises and then he is already dashing off, leaving Ed to finish his own meal.

He's sitting in the shade, a bit more secluded than the other people milling around on campus, which is probably why his students don't notice him when they approach to find their own spot on the lawn, while he cannot help but overhear their conversation.

“Bested by a school kid,” Mallory sighs tragically, “Not something to write home about.”

“He's not even in school yet,” Imany snickers.

“Definitely not something to write him about then,” Mallory says, dejectedly accepting a pat on the back from her.

“Seriously, though,” Sofia says, “He's, like, being raised by two geniuses. Elric probably reads him textbooks as bedtime stories.”

“Whether it's nature or nurture,” Kit points out wryly, “If we don't watch it, that kid is will be teaching classes before we even graduate. And then Elric will be right in thinking we are idiots.”

“Why is he such a hardass, though?” Sofia moans, “I have a friend in East City who told me his classes were difficult but that he's really alright. But I feel like he has done nothing but glare at us so far.”

“Makes you wonder, huh?” Kit says, “I mean, he used to be called Alchemist of the People. So, was that real or just fabricated?”

“Why would they fabricate it?” Imany asks skeptically.

“Cookie points for the military,” Kit shrugs, “And now... Have you read the newspapers lately?”

“So what?” Imany huffs, “We should believe the bad stuff that is written about him but not the good stuff?”

“He's got a point, though,” Sofia muses, “Awfully convenient for Mustang to make a catch like that.”

“You're calling him a trophy now? If that were the case, Mustang would have had better sense to pick someone that has people question him about fraternization and statutory rape.”

“I'm saying,” Sofia elaborates in exasperation, “That if Elric is a great dad but a shit teacher, then maybe Mustang would make a great spouse but a shit Führer.”

“Daddy,” Al's voice suddenly says and Ed jerks slightly when he finds him standing in front of him, giving him a weird look, “Aren't you going to eat your sandwich?”

“Did you feed the ducks?” Ed avoids the question, stuffing his sandwich back into the paper bag and dusting off his pants as he gets up.

“Yes,” Al nods, “The ducklings look all funny now, they're half-grown and sort of ruffled.”

“That's puberty for you, kid,” Ed tells him, “Happens to the best of us.”

Hadn't happened to Al, though, last time around. And now, now it was still a couple of years away.

“Shouldn't we go back inside?” Al asks, “Or you'll be late.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed waves him off, not terribly concerned, “Punctuality is overrated.”

“You're only saying that because you always used to be late to your appointments with Father.”

“And now he wants to marry me,” Ed shrugs, “So it can't have been all that bad.”

 

As predicted, no one shows up to his office hour. It's no surprise because he hasn't established himself yet. Students are reluctant to come to him with questions about their term papers and theses. It's probably for the best. He's not good at all of that mentoring stuff.

Al sits in the corner reading while Ed glances through the room which is still rather barren. Back at home - back in East City, he corrects himself - he'd been sharing his office with one of the research fellows, and they had gotten on quite well. Now, though, Ed is a snooty professor and gets a boring office all of his own.

It's still pretty early but he knows that on the way back the bus is always more cramped as the students who live off campus need to get home as well. And everyone's gonna be cranky and tired, and everyone will have read the newspaper, and everyone will recognize Edward. Just great.

He hesitates for a moment, but then reaches for the phone, dialing the number only a handful of people know.

“Mustang,” Roy says sharply because this is the line that connects directly to his office and few people ever use it.

“Hey,” Ed says, failing to make himself sound more uplifted.

“Edward.” Immediately, Roy's voice takes on a softer note, but at the same time the edge of worry because more pronounced, “What-”

“Calm down,” Ed lets out a small huff, “We're alright.”

“But why are you calling?” Roy asks, still obviously concerned, “You never call without reason-”

“I was just wondering whether you could send down a car for us.”

A moment of silence as that unusual request sinks in.

“Did something happen?” Roy wants to know

“Nah,” Ed lies, “Automail just hurts a bit. And the kid is tired.”

“Ah,” Roy makes an agreeable noise but of course he must have looked right through that excuse, “I'll send someone over at once.”

“Thanks,” Ed sighs, eyes falling shut in relief, “See you later, then.”

“I think I'll make it home a little earlier than usual,” Roy promises him casually, “So why don't we have ourselves a nice evening and cook something together?”

“Sounds great,” Ed nods, “I'll- well, bye then.”

“I love you, Edward,” Roy says and Ed hums a little before he hangs up.

When he looks up again he finds Al watching him suspiciously.

“Why did you lie to father?” he asks, “I'm not tired at all.”

“I know, kid,” Ed says with a vague grin.

But I am, he thinks to himself.

His engagement ring glints knowingly.

 

Sergeant Dornier is looking at him through the rear view mirror and it's starting to get on Ed's nerves. He had requested a car for the sake of privacy, not to have his driver stare at him instead.

“Something the matter?” he drawls, cocking an eyebrow.

“No, sir,” Dornier quickly looks up front again, but her fingers tap against the steering wheel, “I was just wondering...”

She trails off and Ed suppresses a sigh.

“Wondering what?” he asks, more politely than he would for most others. The girl is young and curious, just like he had once been. He doesn't one to turn into one of those snobbish assholes who don't care for other people because of differences in rank and status.

She clears her throat, thrusts her chin forward in a determination. 

“You don't remember me, do you?” she wants to know.

Ed blinks. “Uh. Should I?”

“I guess not,” she give chagrined smile, “We only met once, and you left more of an impression on me than the other way round.”

“When was that?” Ed frowns, furiously wrecking his brain.

“Seven years ago now,” she replies, “At East City headquarters.”

Ed almost jerks in surprise.

“Anais Dornier,” he realizes, “You're that little tyke from back then!”

She pinches her lips, but refrains from pointing out how she is actually taller than him now, simply nodding in agreement.

“Hell,” he shakes his head, “You're what, twenty-one? And already a sergeant?”

“My mother is a general,” she points out, sounding vaguely ashamed, “Many of my superiors treated me better than my peers because they feared repercussions.”

“Hm,” Ed hums, “Realizing that is the first step to proving that you actually deserve that rank.”

“You were a major at twelve, though,” she points out, “I'm nothing in comparison.”

“I was a state alchemist,” he shrugs, “That fact alone made me skip right through the ranks. And it's not like I didn't have any support, too.”

“General Mustang first recruited you, right?” she asks and then winces, “I mean, that is-”

“It's alright,” he placates her, “Yeah, he... he offered a career in the military and gave me an in with the board. So yeah, without him I wouldn't have made it.”

He thinks about that sometimes. About how different all of their lives would have been. Would Alphonse still be caught in the armor? Would Amestris still be standing?

Sometimes Ed thinks that, if Roy hadn't shown up in Riesembol back then to challenge him, he would never have made it out of that wheelchair. Curious how so many things depended on two people meeting at just the right time in the right place.

“Father says it was something between fate and serendipity,” Al pipes up from next to Ed, because if there is one thing Roy likes to do it's embellishing how their relationship had gone, “He says all of the forces of the universe had worked together to get you to meet and that, if it hadn't happened back then, you would have run into each other sooner or later because you are destined to-”

“And that is the proof that your father reads too much sappy poetry,” Ed rolls his eyes, “Also, that definitely sounds like fate. Where's the serendipity bit?”

“Um,” Al thinks hard for a moment, “Maybe that you didn't accidentally kill each other at some point?”

Ed barks out a laugh, “Can't argue there, kid.”

But Sergeant Dornier is watching him again and he cocks his eyebrow at her.

“Sorry, sir,” she says, flustered, “I've been trying to figure out... if you were so dead-set on joining the military, then why did you resign so quickly?”

“I served for five years,” he tells her, “And trust me, the military was different back then. The _world_ was different back then. Five years was a long-ass time.” He glances out of the window, “I originally joined because I wanted to help my brother. But... when I lost him that point became moot.”

By now it's an old lie but still not an easy one. He carries on anyway.

“And then I became a father,” he shrugs, automatically reaching out a hand to pat Al's head, “Couldn't exactly go gallivanting across the country once more.”

“But,” Dornier says, “Your son will be starting school soon. And there are posts open here as well...”

“Wait,” Ed takes a moment to work through her insinuations, “Are you trying to get me to re-enlist? Why the hell would I do that?”

“Ah,” her shoulders hunch up just the tiniest bit, “There is a certain prestige to being a state alchemist after all.”

There is also a certain risk of Al losing both his parents if Ed and Roy were ever simultaneously called to the front lines. After all, Roy wasn't legally recognized as Al's father.

“What, part-time job at the uni not fancy enough for you?” he demands, more irritable than before, “Not enough bloodshed?”

“N-no, sir,” Dornier looks alarmed now, “It's just that I've admired you for so long and... it was always a bit of a surprise for me when you resigned.”

Ed takes a breath, forcefully calming himself.

“No worries,” he waves her off, watching as she relaxes again, but he knows that when she said _surprise_ she actually meant _letdown_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much lovely feedback, both from newcomers and long-term readers, and it made me feel all warm and fluffy. uwu  
> I was wondering, would you guys like me to interact more with you? Because I never quite know when to reply to comments. Also, if you wanna hang around on tumblr, discuss head canons or just cry a little about anime, my username is dawnstruck there as well. :)


	3. Saturday, 26th May 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ready to throw yourself into the fray?” Roy asks conspiratorially.

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**All fur coat and no knickers?** _

_**Central City.** They hailed him as the Hero of Ishval, but today the Flame Alchemist appears as the guest of honor at the commemoration of the Ishvalan Rebellion. “The decision wasn't an easy one,” says Rio, spokesperson of the Ishvalan Integration Committee, “As the rest of Amestris struggles to accept us, so do we struggle to accept alchemy. But despite what happened during the massacres, Colonel Mustang has since taken it upon himself to support us. And for that we are grateful.” _

_Another reason for this unusual sign of forgiveness, however, might be Mustang's liaison with Edward Elric. Formerly known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, he used to work closely with the Ishvalans, and Rio claims to have known him for years. Yet much like Mustang's, Elric's own past is shrouded in secrecy. Little is known of his life prior to his enlistment at the age of 12. Peers and superiors have always commented on the unusual leniency with which Mustang treated his subordinate, but no actions were ever taken. Yet experts believe that Elric's involvement may even have been the catalyst to the Liore Massacre._

_There is also the matter of Elric's son Alphonse (7), the result of a previous teenage dalliance. While the family resemblance is obvious, one has to wonder about the identity of the boy's mother. According to an anonymous source, the birth certificate does not even mention her name. Is it possible that the then Colonel Mustang paid the poor girl a pittance of a compensation so he could force himself into the vacated spot in this small family? This also raises the question at which point his unsavory interest in his underage protégé first arose. As one of the leading competitors for the Führership, Mustang seems intent on whitewashing his reputation and purging everyone's memories of his misdeeds. Every saint has a past, but does every sinner truly have a future? Only next year's elections might offer an answer to that question. G. FALKNER_

 

“Promise me to not hit any journalists tonight,” Roy pleads.

“I'll try,” Ed replies, pointedly glaring at the back of the passenger seat in front of him.

“Or any high-ranking military officials,” Roy adds, “Or anyone who makes disparaging comments. Just don't hit anyone.”

“I know! Geez,” Edward hisses and crosses his arms, “I'm not new to this, in case you've forgotten.”

“Of course,” Roy agrees, “But as I'm a direct candidate in line for the Führership we'll be more scrutinized than ever.”

Yes, Ed had indeed noticed that. It wasn't like there had never been any cruel rumors about them before but now that they had come to Central it seemed like not a week could pass without some sort of more or less blatant attack on their relationship. Ed was already quite sick of it.

And now he had to attend this stupid banquet and play nice with everyone.

He wishes he could have accompanied Al and gone to stay with Shezka for the night. Nothing but hours and hours of searching through her enormous towers of books. That would be quite wonderful.

But, no, instead he is caught in a stuffy suit with the prospect of having to shake hands and listen to boring speeches. At least the food was usually good at those events.

As soon as they get out of the car, cameras start flashing around them. Roy easily lights his debonair smile and shines it upon the reporters that have gathered around the entrance like vultures waiting for the proud lion to finally kick the bucket. He glances towards Edward and offers his arm. Ed clenches his teeth and places his hand in the crook of Roy's forearm.

“Ready to throw yourself into the fray?” Roy asks conspiratorially.

Not for this one, Ed thinks but what he says is, “Always.”

They've barely made it into the hall when they are already apprehended by Breda who salutes Roy.

“Chief. Boss,” he whispers, leaning in close under the guise of shaking Ed's hand, “The security has been raised. Hawkeye is already on it. We have reason to believe that someone might try to infiltrate the event.”

Roy marginally raises his chin, but nothing else gives away his tension.

“What faction?” he asks casually.

“Anti-Ishvalan, most likely,” Breda replies, “Better keep your gloves at hand, sir.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Roy tells him, “Dismissed.”

Breda salutes again, but as he turns to leave he gives Edward a wink.

“Better check out the buffet before the best stuff is gone, boss,” he grins, “The prawns are to die for.”

“Will do,” Ed promises and tugs Roy along.

 

The hall is huge and sparsely decorated in colors of gold and burgundy, an homage to the Ishvalan faith. But there are many nooks and crannies and alcoves in which snipers could easily hide and take aim at the stage up front.

The prawns, however, are conveniently located at a spot which allows Ed to oversee most of the hall without even having to crane his neck while Roy goes and makes nice with whoever can't wait to shake his hand.

That means that Ed is left alone to fend off the harpies that are some of the military wives who try to suck up to him while their husbands are doing the same to Roy.

Surprisingly, though, it is Evelyn Fairchild who sidles up to him, even if she doesn't say anything at first and her expression is rather bored.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ed says as he side-eyes her, “You not gonna bang the drums to herald your husband's candidacy?”  
“Tsk,” she clicks her tongue, “You're not either, are you?”

“I am,” Ed informs her, “In my own way.”

“I'm not in the mood for making nice tonight,” she tugs at her satin gloves, “I would have preferred to stay home.”

“Yeah, that's actually my attitude on every single of these events,” Ed drawls, though he has to admit that the commemoration is actually important to him as well. He still doesn't enjoy all the pretentious hullabaloo around it.

“My daughter is sick,” Evenlyn says, “I wanted to stay with her but Ephraim said to leave it to the nanny.”

Ed would go on a rampage if Roy even suggested anything like that, but he doesn't say so.

“Sucks,” he agrees instead. It's still interesting to see how Evelyn Fairchild who seemed to be thirsty for prestige and influence like few else sounded so listless about those same prospects now.

“It gives you a different perspective, doesn't it,” she says now, “Parenthood, I mean. I always wanted what was best. Now... I want what is best for her.”

Elaine, Ed remembers. Her daughter's name is Elaine.

“How old is she now?” he asks, “Five?”

“Almost six,” Evelyn smiles, “Still can't believe how quickly time passes.”

Ed snorts, “Tell me about it. Al shot up like a weed these past months.”

“Is he in school yet?”

“Nah, we're gonna enroll him this fall. He's all excited about meeting new kids.”

“Is he, ah, popular with other children?” Evelyn asks, back to plucking at her gloves.

Ed blinks, “Huh? How do you mean that?”

“Elaine is... quite shy,” Evelyn says carefully, “She has trouble connecting to her peers. I... worry sometimes.”

“Al gets along with everybody,” Ed muses, eyes rolled up to the ceiling before glancing over once more, “So maybe we could set up a play date or something?”

Evelyn looks surprised.

“Yes,” she says after a beat, “Yes, that would be nice, I think.”

Who would have thought, Edward thinks. This wasn't so difficult after all.

 

There is food and traditional Ishvalan music, a group of children performs a folk tale. Roy holds a speech that he mostly wrote himself, bemoaning the losses on both sides during the Civil War and the terrible wrongs that have been done. He calls the high priestess Shan onto the stage who is ancient and dignified, and Armstrong returns the Ishvalan artifacts that had been seized by the Amestrian army.

Afterwards, the gathered journalists are allowed to asks questions.

Instead of being concerned with domestic politics or war crimes or cultural exchange, however, the press conference takes an unexpected turn.

“It's said that you have high hopes for the Führership,” one stout reporter with an impressive mustache points out, “Which of the other potential candidates do you fear the most?”

“I wouldn't say that I fear any of them,” Roy replies with a suave smile, “I respect them, certainly. They are all worthy opponents. But that is the beauty of a democracy. In the end it is not my opinion that matters but that of the people.”

“But do you consider yourself lacking in regards to your personal achievements?” asks a red-haired woman, and just there a sharper edge creeps into Roy's expression.

“I beg your pardon,” he says, “Whatever might you be referring to?”

“Both Fairchild and Messerschmitt are already married and have children,” she elaborates with a foxy smirk, “Such steadiness often translates to a politician's politics.”

“It's interesting that you would say that,” Roy's hands grip the sides of the podium a little more tightly, “After all, my family life is not much different from that of the Generals Fairchild and Messerschmitt.”

“Oh no,” Riza mutters from their discreet viewpoint under one of the alcoves, and Ed already knows why. There is that little furrow between Roy's brows, the one that only appears whenever he is incensed by someone, that small tell that warns them that he is about to do something stupid.

“But – if you were to be elected Führer - what kind of a image would your affair with Elric broadcast to other nations?”

And here we go, Ed thinks, watching as Roy's shoulders tense up, even as his voice stays deceptively calm.

“As compared to the dozens of concubines the former emperor of Xing used to keep? Or the Prince of Aerugo who was cuckolded by his wife?” Roy wonders and then pauses for a moment before he continues.

“I am saddened to see that my relationship with Edward has been the target of so many rumors and, frankly, downright slander. I have repeatedly explained that our involvement didn't begin until he had left the ranks, at which point he was already of age as well, if you need the reminder. I also fail to understand why, on the one hand, the press point out that I lack commitment, yet on the other they claim that I am _too_ committed, that our love cannot possibly have a future. To those nay-sayers who have been doubting us,” he takes a deep breath and tilts his chin up in a defiant manner, “Edward and I are already engaged to marry.”

“I am going to kill him,” Riza says as the journalists erupt into a frenzy of excited questions.

“Get in line,” Ed growls and downs his drink.

 

By the end of the evening, things have marginally quieted down, and everyone of import gathers on the stage for a group photograph.

“You go, too,” Riza tells him, “And keep an eye out. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Of course she does. There are various Ishvalan dignitaries as well as high-ranking military officials gathered in one place. According to Assassination 101 that is pretty much the best opportunity for a little bloodshed.

Ed goes to stand beside Roy because he has to after their engagement was announced so unceremoniously, but he makes sure that it's his automail shoulder that touches him.

“I'm sorry,” Roy says quietly, “I couldn't help myself.”

“I noticed,” Ed growls, “I'm just pissed that you warned me off of punching anyone and then you go and drop the bomb like that.”

“I know,” somehow Roy manages to sound chagrined and pleased at the same time, “Just... I wanted to get one up on them.”

“Just for the record,” Ed tells him, “That means that I get one free pass for losing my temper in public.”

“Fair enough,” Roy sighs and then pulls himself together for the photographs.

The flashes go off and so do the gunshots.

Even years after leaving the military, the sound is so ingrained in Ed's brain that he hasn't consciously thought about it before he is already down his knees, hands slapping onto the stage. It's made of wood but the marble floor underneath it rises up as a jagged wall.

There are a few outcries but most of these seem to stem from surprise at the transmutation instead of fear of the sniper. The majority of the people doesn't even seem to have realized that someone had opened fire.

But while the stage is now shielded, the rest of the hall is still unprotected and Ed hadn't quite made out where the shots had come from.

“Up on the gallery,” Roy hisses next to him, “One of our own darn security officers. Damn it all to hell!”

He's barely finished speaking when Ed has already clapped his hands again and transmuted the gallery closed on all sides. No one would be able to get in for now, but the shooter wouldn't be able to get out either. And, more importantly, he wouldn't be able to continue shooting.

“Is anyone wounded?” Roy asks loudly, quickly scanning the confused people on the stage, “Lady Shan?”

“I just fell,” she waves him off, though considering her age even something as small as that might prove deadly, “But what in Ishval's name was that?”

A coward, Ed thinks because most of the people here are civilians and have no way of defending themselves, especially not against random bullets. At least they had seemed random.

So this was probably not an assassination attempt on anyone in particular. Just stoking the fire a bit, remind the Ishvalans of their apprehension and the rest of Amestris that there were still those loyal to the old government. Two birds with one stone. Even though no had been harmed in this incident, there would still be a public outcry which could either be in sympathy of the sniper or against him.

And if there was one thing Ed knew it was that the opinions of the people seemed to change with the wind.

 

“How is it?” Ed asks when Roy comes to join him on the balcony.

“He's been taken into custody,” Roy explains, letting out a big sigh as he leans against the banister, “The interrogations will hopefully reveal more, but as of now it seems unlikely that he acted on his own. Maybe he was bribed, but heaven knows how he planned to get away with it.”

Another sigh, this one heaved towards the night sky faintly illuminated by stars, before he turns to glance at Edward.

“What about you?” he asks, “Are you alright?”

Ed opens his mouth to give a flippant answer, but then he stills himself. Because now that the adrenaline has faded he realizes that maybe this whole ordeal is not something he could just brush off.

Once upon a time he had been so used to powering his way through life-or-death situations one with sheer power of will and a healthy dose of what must have been dumb luck, but that was years ago. Nowadays the most challenging alchemy he used was when he transmuted cat puke out of the rug in the living-room.

He hasn't been shot at in ages. He hasn't had to worry for anyone's life since his very last encounter with Envy. He hasn't had reason to fear loss since he had started to raise Al.

That thought has belated dread zap through him like lightening.

He could have died. _Roy_ could have died. And Al would have been an orphan, would have lost his family a-fucking-gain, all because Ed couldn't clap his hand fast enough in order to prevent tragedy, just because he had been getting complacent, despite the fact that he knew, he fucking _knew_ their roles as part of Central's high society put them at a greater risk, and-

Suddenly, Roy's arms are around him and then he is nosing against the side of Edward's head, mussing up his hair.

“You saving the day will never fail to arouse me,” he whispers roughly and Ed gets a bit of a whiplash from how his brain is still caught on the near-death experience while his body has immediately moved on to hot and bothered. Though that might actually be interrelated. Life-affirming actions an all that.

“Yeah?” he asks, still rather shaky, throwing his own arms around Roy, “If I am the dashing hero, what does that make you? The damsel in distress?”

“If that means you will steal me away and ravish me, then I will gladly take that role,” Roy chuckles, his breath warm and damp against Ed's jawline.

Ed chokes down a whimper because he doesn't want to sound needy, even if that is exactly what he is feeling right now. He is needy. He needs to know that they are both alright, he needs-

He stands up on his tiptoes to be closer, presses in and takes Roy's lips in an open-mouthed kiss, because he wants to feel the breath in their lungs and the blood pulsing in their veins.

“Ah,” Roy says with a chagrined smile and gently pushes him away, “On second thought, we shouldn't do this here.”

If Ed had thought he had suffered a whiplash before then this is definitely like slamming into a brick wall, full-speed and face-first.

“Why the heck not?” he wants to know, fists still bunched in the back of Roy's dress uniform.

“Photographers,” Roy points out wryly, “Also, I've been requested to lead the investigations. So I will have to come into headquarters for now.”

Ed barely stifles a groan, “Seriously? The only reason I even put on this stupid suit is because I was thinking about how you would take if off of me tonight.”

“I know,” Roy says in apology and at least he sounds similarly as pained, “I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Alright,” Ed sighs, reluctantly letting go of him, “Can you at least order me a car?”

“Of course,” Roy presses a kiss to his forehead, “I'll probably be out late. Don't wait up for me.”

And then he is already strutting away again, leaving Ed to pick out the stars alone.

 


	4. Monday, 28th May 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, excuse me for being concerned about my son's happiness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for everything that happens in this chapter.

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**Surprising Engagement** _

_**Central City.** In the wake of Saturday's assassination attempt during the Ishval Commemoration, the other cause for uproar was almost forgotten. While Edward Elric conveniently happened to be on stage in order to save the day, people were once more reminded of their darling's heroism. After unexpectedly declaring his intent to marry Elric, however, General Mustang had to face wide-spread outrage over the fact that the former Alchemist of the People has turned into little more than a kept woman. _

_Previously, Mustang and Elric had been living in concubinage. Mustang insists that the engagement is not a new development, yet he only announced it when pressuring questions backed him into a corner. Is this supposed betrothal just another means to present himself as a family man? He wouldn't be the first to choose his spouse based on prestige and practicalities. Führer King Bradley for example once married his wife Adelaide (née Blanche) due to her pedigree and her popularity among the civilians of Central City as a supporter of philanthropic initiatives. It is note-worthy that Elric himself seemed rather surprised by the announcement, but that so far he has been unavailable for interviews. G. FALKNER_

 

He's late for his Monday morning class because the weekend was long and exhausting, and he stops in the doorway to the auditorium to straighten his clothes. It's only because of that that he overhears the conversation happening in the second row, and when he realizes what it's about it makes him freeze up on the spot.

“These articles don't even make any sense,” he hears Imany huff, “That woman writes something different every week.”

“Of course she does, it's the gossip column,” Kit shrugs, “And they are easy targets. You still have to admit that there is a speck of truth to it.”

“What on earth do you consider to be truthful about any of this??”

“Well, think about it,” Kit says, “The up and coming Führer needs an arm candy. Enter Professor Elric, young, handsome, smart, with an astounding reputation and a military background. And he already comes readily with a kid.”

“What the-,” Imany swears under her breath, “You saying he's been planning this for the past six years? And then why the hell didn't he choose a woman? Marry his adjutant Hawkeye and have kids with her instead? Perfect match.”

“Maybe he's actually all gay,” Kit argues.

“Or maybe he is in love with Professor Elric,” Imany sounds fed up.

“Little bit like you, huh?”

“I swear on everything that is holy, Kit, I will strangle y-”

Ed loudly raps his knuckles on the threshold as he steps in. Immediately, silence falls over the room.

“Everyone, please shut up,” he orders without looking at anyone, “Yes, I'm late, I've had a crappy morning. Do me a favor and don't make it worse. Open your reader on page 45 and read through it, take notes, the usual. Afterwards group work, three to four people.”

There are a few muffled noises of discontent because everyone hates group work, alchemists most of all, but Ed cannot bear to stand in front of these people right now, cannot bear to have their eyes on him, cannot bear to have them picking him apart like everyone has been doing lately.

He sits down at his desk and pulls out a stack of papers, acting like he's grading them when in reality the letters in front of him barely make any sense anymore.

After the whole terrorist attack at the commemoration, both he and the press had mostly forgotten about Roy's ill-timed reveal of their engagement. Now he finds himself reminded of everything with full force.

When Roy had first proposed Ed had been... not opposed, no, but hesitant. Logically, he knew that there would not be much of a change in their dynamic and that, married or not, they would go on as they had before. But still, something about the vastness of that concept – of marriage, of Yes, of Till Death do us part – had scared him. He couldn't even pinpoint that fear, couldn't explain it.

But his relationship with Roy had always been so effortless because there were no expectations, no obligations. A wedding, however...

They hadn't even agreed on the details yet, on the date or the venue or the guest list. Was Ed supposed to take Roy's name? And what about Al?

Ed had published dozens books and papers under his name. He had established his own career. But he can't even have that without it being related to Roy in one way or the other. People here call him Professor Elric to his face but to them he will always be General Mustang's boytoy first because that's who they had read about in the paper before he moved here.

And even his accomplishments mean little in comparison to what Roy had achieved so far, expected to make Führer at forty and all that.

Back then, when Ed had been eighteen and without a real idea about what to do with his life, apart from being a worthy parent to Al, it had been Roy who had gotten him in contact with the university officials. Without that, Ed would have ended up in some second-rate lab, his true abilities wasted.

But even that amount of hubris scares him sometimes because once upon a time it had been the reason for his downfall. And there is still the fact that much of his supposed genius had been pushed into his head without his consent, without his control.

So much of it had suddenly just been there, had filled him to the brim, and the dark hands had held it there, had shoved it deeper, had sewn it shut, only to tear at the seams and rip it out once more, and then repeat the whole process again and again till he was raw inside and out.

A crack and for a moment he is sure that his spine must have snapped, or maybe his sanity. But then he realizes that it is just his pen in his clenched automail fist, two uneven ragged halves, black ink spilling over his fingers like the darkness within the Gate had spread over his limbs.

“Professor Elric?” a voice asks and he jerks his head up, wild eyes finding Imany staring back at him in obvious concern.

The entire class has fallen silent, their group work abandoned. Everybody is watching him which is exactly what he had been trying to avoid.

He sucks in a painful breath and tries to clear his thoughts, take stock of the situation.

He hasn't had a panic attack over this in years, and he doesn't think he's ever really had one in front of other people. He had thought he was _over_ it because what had happened was a thing of the past.

There was no reason for him to attempt human transmutation again, no reason to touch the Gate. He knew better now, he accepted Death as a part of Life, he was no longer a child crying for his mother, he was no longer a victim of what had been done to his body and his mind, he-

Forcefully he scrapes back his chair, the legs dragging a violent sound from the floor and all the way through the lecture hall. In comparison, his own voice sounds strangely feeble in his ears.

“Dismissed,” he tells the class at large, though he isn't even facing them, blindly stuffing his papers back into his briefcase, “We'll continue next week.”

He hurries for the door, hyperaware of how his heavier automail leg clanks on the way there, even though he had grown mostly oblivious to it over the past decade, so this reminds him of that first year after the surgery when his flesh had still been sore and he had dragged anchors of steel around him with every step.

He can feel his students' eyes on him, can feel them following him like one big entity. The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

Somehow, he makes it to his office and slams the door shut behind himself, leaning against it as if that would keep everything out. His chest heaves under the effort to keep his breathing relatively calm, but it's still a shudder and a wheeze in his ears.

Just a vivid memory, he tells himself. It can't hurt you anymore, it can't touch you, it can't-

It takes a while but eventually his panic ebbs away, though his heart is still fluttering like a frightened bird in his rib cage, its wings beating against the small prison, leaving the rest of him hollow and echoing, his body drenched in cold sweat.

He isn't sure whether to be grateful that Alphonse usually doesn't accompany him on Mondays. On the one hand, Al's presence might have soothed him. On the other, he doesn't want his son to witness this kind of breakdown, especially not if he might carry it on to Roy.

Shit. If Roy finds out about his public freak-out, if the press does... they'll paint him as a maniac for sure, they'll start questioning whether he is even fit to teach, let along raise a small boy. He doesn't know what he would do if they tried to take Al away from him.

No, that's a lie. He does know. He'd burn them, incinerate them till there was nothing left but their ashes. He still had a pair of Roy's gloves after all.

 

At the house he is alone, safe for the cats that greet him with heads nudged against his shins, so he scoops Maple up and falls down onto the sofa, holding her close. Luckily, the small red ball of fur loves cuddles and is extremely attuned to her humans' moods so as soon as he touches her she starts purring, the vibrations tingling through his body, while Dandelion curls up by his side and offers silent company.

Before long, however, his mental exhaustion fades away and he is buzzing with nervous energy again, so he starts tidying the already tidy ground level and then meanders into the garden where he transmutes a series of dummies onto the lawn.

After slipping out of his slacks and dress shirt, he just stills for a moment, letting the summer sun sink into his exposed skin, hoping that it'll sear away the other sensations. It doesn't. Of course it fucking doesn't, it never does.

So with a barely suppressed war cry he throws himself at the dummies and starts kicking their heads off, punching holes through them, tearing them apart till his automail is ringing and his damp hair is sticking to his face.

Eventually, however, he is interrupted.

“Just as I thought,” Roy says from where he is leaning against the door of the solarium, “The dulcet sounds of my beautiful fiancé working out. But it is a much more marvelous sight to behold.”

Shut up, Ed wants to say.

“Why are you home so early,” he asks instead, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

“One of the perks of rising through the ranks,” Roy says, making his way across the lawn and towards him, “Is that at some point you can decide on your own schedule.”

“Don't tell me you managed to sweet-talk Riza.”

Roy smirks, “She was busy elsewhere today.”

Edward rolls his eyes but when Roy steps up and embraces him from behind he struggles against the touch.

“Don't,” he gripes, “I'm sweaty.”

“I like you sweaty,” Roy hums, “In fact, I like you in any shape or form imaginable.”

As if to underline that claim, he runs his lips from the side of Edward's neck up to his temple, tasting the salt.

“The sun suits you like little else,” he says in a voice that is almost a whisper but not quite. “In my humble opinion,” he adds, slowly slipping his palm down the front of Ed's underwear, “You shouldn't wear anything but.”

“No,” Edward says and elbows himself free, quickly turning around so he can at least see Roy, “Not... not now. Not today.”

Roy looks confused because usually they fuck like bunnies when Alphonse is out with his play group, but then it transforms into concern, “Did something happen?”

Ed shrugs. “Nothing,” he says, even though it's _everything_.

For a long moment, Roy just looks at him, trying to suss out what the problem might be.

“Is this because of that ridiculous article?” he asks at length, and it isn't, not really, but it gives Ed something to hold on to, something to rail about.

“Maybe,” he huffs, glancing away, “They're kinda right, after all.”

Roy blinks in honest surprise, “What on earth would that person be right about?”

“Well, you gotta admit that your big reveal had shitty timing,” Ed points out, “Especially during the commemoration. Real bad taste.”

“I know,” Roy groans, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “I just... I wanted to shove it down their throats.”

“What, how well you know how to pick your playthings?”

Roy's eyes widen, obviously caught off guard by the venomous tone, “Edward, love, you of all people should know that you are anything but.”

Ed squares his jaw, clenches his fists, “They basically called me your mistress!”

“And we will prove them wrong now that we have announced our engagement,” Roy promises soothingly.

“You make it sound like that was really the only reason for you to propose in the first place!”

“Of course not, Edward,” Roy tries, “You know it wasn't but... Call me old-fashioned but I want the whole thing. I want the fancy clothes and the cake and the speaking my vows in front of witnesses. They can try to tear it apart from the outside however much they want but they won't succeed as long as we have each other.”

“But now you've given them even more fodder than before,” Ed hisses, “You've basically thrown us to the wolves!”

“Edward, don't you see that we are not the problem?” Roy tells him, “None of this is our fault. They write similar non-sense about the Fairchilds and everyone else because we are currently in the public eye and they are just trying to sell their papers. They don't even believe those stories themselves.”

“Yeah, but a lot of other people do,” Ed bites his lower lip, shaking his head to himself before he looks up again, “Al's gonna start school soon. Kids catch on to that shit, Roy. How quickly to you think his classmates will start shutting him out?”

“They won't,” Roy assures him, “If anything, their parents will tell them to suck up to him in order to get on my good side.”

Edward gapes.

“Seriously?!” he bursts out, “That's how you want to protect him from all that crap? You realize that that'll turn him into one of those mollycoddled upper-class kids you always like to complain about when talking about your own childhood? For fuck's sake, Roy!”

“No, heavens, no, Ed,” Roy buries his face in his palms, takes a breath, “I'm saying you shouldn't worry so much.”

“Well, excuse me for being concerned about my son's happiness,” Ed snarls and twirls away, “I'll just go be overbearing in the shower where no one can see my motherly tears.”

“Edward,” Roy says and raises a placating hand.

“ _Don't_ follow me,” Ed growls over his shoulder and then he is already stalking inside.

 

The cold shower doesn't exactly cool his head, but it does give him a few minutes to reflect on why their conversation escalated so spectacularly. Probably because Roy sometimes said things that Ed just couldn't not take the wrong way, and because Ed often deflected by not being able to articulate what he meant at all.

My son, he had said. It had taken him a long time to even work up to that. For ages when he had thought of Al as his it was still as _Al my brother_. Really being his parent had only become a tangible thought when he and Roy had referred to him as _our son_.

And now he had shut Roy out of all of that, despite the fact that – from the early beginnings of them living together – they had made decisions regarding Al together.

Was it rage that had made him lash out like that? Or was that his subconscious trying to tell him something?

He rubs a towel over his hair, blankly staring at his reflection in the mirror. But it's the gold of his engagement ring that catches his eye.

He's been wearing it for months now, but the sight of it, the weight on his finger still sends him off-kilter. For a heady moment, he considers taking it of, to just violently chuck it into the corner and leave it up to chance whether he'll find it again or whether it'll get lost in the dusty shadows. But then he just stills and scratches his thumbnail over the intricate engravings he had put there himself.

In that moment the phone in the hallway rings.

He waits for a little while, waits for the outside world to just go away, for Roy to go answer it because it's mostly likely for him anyway. But Roy can be incredibly petulant at times and right now he is probably still sulking somewhere.

Edward sighs, steels himself, opens the bathroom door and goes to answer the upstairs phone down the hall.

“Mustang and Elric residence,” he says, trying to keep the day's exhaustion from slipping into the words.

For a moment there is nothing but silence from the other end.

“Hello?” he tries, “Who-”

“Ed,” Sig says and the tone of his voice, the mere fact that he is calling at all, out of the blue and when he hates talking on the phone, is enough for Edward to already know what he will say next.

“Izumi just passed away.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, no, I'm not.


	5. Thursday, 31st May 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funeral is held in the afternoon.

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**Lovers' Quarrel or Premature Divorce?** _

_**Central City.** While General Roy Mustang has made plans to attend a dinner at the Xingese embassy, his fiancé Edward Elric will not be accompanying him, instead taking a trip out of town, citing personal reasons. In the wake of their unexpected engagement, it seems curious that the lovers would so obviously seek to spent time apart, especially since Elric will be taking his son with him. Though it is doubtlessly too early to come to any conclusions, the timing of this separation seems unfortunate. Students report that Professor Elric has recently seemed rather tense an preoccupied. Has he belatedly realized that a man of his accomplishments would feel caged within the narrow existence of a trophy husband? Will this time spent apart make him realize that he might be about to make the biggest mistake of his life? G. FALKNER_

 

The train ride to Dublith is long and quiet.

Ed and Al have taken this trip many times, both now and _before_ , but today they don't pass the time with card games and trying to guess what Sig might cook for dinner. Instead they sit in silence and stare out of the window.

Ed has never been good at offering solace. He challenged people and goaded them on, till their grief turned into anger, because that always seemed to work for him. He doesn't know how to give someone closure.

But it's the first time Al has truly lost someone.

Once, he found a wounded bird and asked Edward to save it but there was nothing that could have been done. The bird died, Al started crying, and Ed hadn't know what to do.

Roy had taken over then, had patiently explained Alphonse the ways of life, and the ways of death.

It was one thing to teach it as a fundamental philosophy of alchemy, and quite another to apply it to our own reality. But Roy had put the bird into an old cigar box, and he and Al had buried it in the garden and said some pretty words and put down flowers and marked the grave with a stone.

The only time Ed had ever tried to carry Al through their grief he had said 'We're going to bring her back' and fucked up their lives beyond repair.

He knows that Roy has spoken to Al before they left, but it doesn't seem like enough. Not when all Ed can give now it crooked smiles and endless silence. He wishes Roy were here now because Roy always knows what to say, what to do. He wishes-

But Roy has his duties and they won't see each other for the next couple of days.

Roy had offered, of course, had told Ed he would gladly clear his schedule and at least be present for the funeral. Yet there were the ambassadors to consider, not to mention the still on-going investigation regarding the sniper incident, especially since the culprit had remained completely silent so far. While some within the ranks were demanding more drastic measures, Roy had vehemently spoken against the use of torture. Him just leaving right in the middle of the debate was not a move he could afford without risking dire consequences.

No, for once, for now, Ed would have to re-learn how to fight his own demons.

So once they arrive at Dublith Station, Ed grabs the suitcase, puts his other hand on Al's shoulder, and then leads them through the bustling streets of the town that was once so familiar to him, memories lurking behind every corner, while for all these strangers' lives just go on.

When they make it to the butchery, the sign on the door informs them that it is closed due to bereavement, as if the people in the neighborhood wouldn't already know. As soon as Ed and Al enter, however, a huge shadow falls over them and then Sig is standing there, in the middle of the shop, so vast and so lonely, like a barren planet amidst the emptiness of the universe.

He doesn't say anything but, the moment they step closer, he pulls them into a tight embrace. The touch, finally, seems to be what makes Al cry again while Sig's shoulders quiver silently. Ed turns his face against Sig's chest and breathes.

 

The bedroom still looks normal. The window is open, letting in air and light, and there are flower pots on the sill. The bed is made, the perfume flacons on the vanity neatly arranged.

Sig opens the upper drawer of the left bedside table and pulls out a stack of envelopes, careful as though he were holding apple blossoms in his big rough hands.

“She left letters for all of you,” he says as he sorts through them, reading the names written on the front, “Already prepared them a while ago.” He stops when he finds the one that has Edward's name on it, reconsiders, “But yours... I think she revised yours several times.”

He extends the envelope but Ed flinches, hiding his hands behind his back and shaking his head.

“I can't- I can't read that yet,” he stammers out, “Not now, not when-”

He swallows, stares down at the floor.

“Is there one for me, too?” Al asks timidly. Sig smiles.

“Of course there is,” he says and hands Al a different envelope. Al looks at it, quivers, presses it to his chest.

“I think,” he says, “I think I'm going to read it now.”

And then he is off, disappearing from the room, probably to seek out one of the many hiding places he has here. Sig and Ed are left behind.

“Take it, please,” Sig says, offering the letter once more, “It was... it was her wish.”

So Ed does, even though the starched paper seems to be burning his fingers.

Sig's gaze drops down to Edward's hand, no doubt catching sight of the gold band there. Edward stills, but for a long moment Sig doesn't speak. Then he reaches for the drawer again, puts the rest of the letters away but pulls something else out instead. It's a small simple ring that matches the one on his own finger.

“I've been wondering what do to with it,” Sig says, his voice quiet and rough, “Do I keep it close or safely put it away? Should I bury it with her?”

“I- I don't know,” Ed says, overwhelmed by being asked for his opinion on such a matter, “You've been married for so long, you've always...”

He trails off, not knowing how to continue, but Sig is the last who would begrudge him his speechlessness.

“I thought I could wear it on a necklace,” Sig says, and he won't just be a widower for the rest of his life, he will always be a husband first.

“Yeah,” Edward replies jerkily, “Yeah, that's good, I think.”

“There are some other things,” Sig tells him with a vague gesture, “Books mostly. Her will hasn't been read yet. But... that can wait for now.”

They leave the bedroom, Sig closing the door with incredible gentleness as though someone were still sleeping there in the bed, and then he goes to make them tea. They end up sitting around the table, mostly just holding their warm cups instead of really drinking, and Edward is grateful that Sig is someone in whose presence silence never feels like a knife.

Eventually, Al reappears, the envelope now opened but with the letter neatly put back inside. The tear tracks on his face give away that he must have been crying again, but he seems better for it, steadier. Al has always been like that while crying has never made Ed feel anything but weak.

Now he watches as Al carefully places his letter on the table and then climbs up onto Sig's lap, cuddling up to him without a word. With any other child it would be a sign of looking for comfort, but in Al's case it's obvious that he's the one offering warmth.

Come to me, Ed wants to tell him, I don't want to be alone either.

But it's a selfish thought because Sig is the one who's on his own now, even though Ed has never before thought of him as solitary.

Sig had always been so different from Hohenheim but at the same time not. He'd been strong and a decent fighter, but for the most part a pacifist. He'd been monosyllabic and introverted, but still always _there_. Unlike Hohenheim, though, Sig was physically affectionate and always up for silly games. He made the best spaghetti and always managed to give everyone the same amount of meatballs so there was never any reason to fight. He didn't tell on you when you stayed up reading past your bedtime and he let you ride on his shoulders, even when you insisted that you were way too old for that, and for a moment Ed is loses himself in near-blissful memories of a past that doesn't hurt too much.

At some point, however, even grief is overridden by other pressing matters, and Al's stomach growls loudly.

Sig smiles down at him, “You hungry, son?”

“I haven't had anything since breakfast,” Al admits with some shame. Ed thinks Roy make some sandwiches but he can't recall eating any. Still, his stomach sits heavy like a stone in his middle.

“I haven't cooked these past days,” Sig tells him, standing with Al balanced on his arm, “But I think I can whip something up for you.”

They disappear in the kitchen and Ed remains behind, staring down into his cold tea. That is, until someone steps in through the backdoor and he forces himself to look up.

“Edward,” Winry says, standing in the threshold. She looks pretty in her summer dress and her braided hair, but her expression is gaunt and crestfallen.

“Winry,” he says, standing, and they are hugging each other or maybe it's just her hugging him, he doesn't even know.

“Oh, Edward, I'm so sorry,” she whispers into his shoulder and Edward only nods.

“I've been here since yesterday,” she tells him when they've sat down, “Helped with... with organizing everything. Sig shouldn't have to do that on his own.”

“That's nice of you,” Ed says because he can't think of anything else.

“I think...,” Winry trails off, pauses for a moment and then begins again, “You shouldn't feel obligated if you don't feel up to it, but... I think Sig would be very happy if you could hold a eulogy.”

“Oh,” Ed says. Of course he knows that Sig isn't good with words but it's not like Ed is much better.

“Yeah,” he says instead because what else is he meant to do? “Yeah, sure, no problem.”

Lately, he's had a lot of experience with public speaking after all, and with keeping his emotions in check, too. Right now, it's the least he can do. Quite possibly, it's even the _only_ thing he can do.

In that moment they are fortunately joined by Sig and Al once more which takes the attention off him.

“Aunt Winry,” Al calls and launches himself at her.

“Hey, my little bunny bear,” Winry replies with a small cheer in her voice overriding her sadness as she hugs him close, “I know we haven't seen each other in ages, but how did you get so big?”

“I always drink my milk, like you told me to,” Al claims proudly, “I don't want to end up short like daddy.”

“I can pull you up by the ears, if you wanna,” Ed growls playfully, reaching out to rubs his knuckles over the crown of Al's head, but it's more of an instinctual reaction than anything else.

Sig sets down two plates on the table, one for Al and one in front of Ed. Ed stares at it for a long moment, nausea rebelling in his guts, but Sig is watching him so he takes up the fork and starts eating anyway, even if he can barely taste what the stir fry contains. Once that first bite hits his stomach, though, he is overwhelmed by a sudden wave of hunger and he realizes that he must have been ravenous this entire time.

The meal is welcome then but it's still not enough to fill the gaping emptiness within him.

 

The funeral is held in the afternoon, the first real heat of summer laced through the day.

It seems like half of Dublith is present, people giving each other those broken smiles that are part encouraging, part devastated. A lot of children stand around sniffling.

Everything is decked out with a rainbow of flowers and not a single person is wearing black. She would have wanted colors, Ed knows but he still wishes he could tear down the sky for being so fucking vibrant and blue.

He's valiantly keeping his chin up, his posture rigid. Next to him Al is crying into Winry's skirt, and on his other side there is Sig, mute tears on his face. Vaguely Ed thinks he ought to join in, show some solidarity, not stick out so much. He can't, though. He has mourned for so many people, but sometimes he thinks he had already cried himself empty at his mother's grave.

The officiant holds a short speech, about the relation between the individual and the community, about how everything that grows must come to an end, and it's all pretty abstract, but Ed is only listening with half an ear anyway.

Eventually, Winry nudges him and then he knows that it's his cue to step up front and say something meaningful, something that will make everyone smile fondly and nod in agreement, even though he doesn't even know most of these people. But he had lived here in Dublith, if only for a little while, he's been part of this community. He can do this.

So he stares at the crowd, at his feet, and then at the closed casket before flinching away and finally settling on a point in the distance, above and behind everyone's heads, past Sig, past the tall redhead, past the man with the top-hat. He licks his lips, cracks the knuckle of his thumb in his fist.

“For those of you who don't know me or don't remember me,” he begins with an awkward shuffle, “I'm Edward and I used to be Izumi's apprentice.”

Her name feels like a mouthful of broken glass, but he plows on anyway.

“I lost my mother at a young age,” he forces himself to say, “And... Izumi lost her son. She took me and my brother in when we needed it most, even though she had no obligation to do so. She gave us guidance and care.”

He pauses, remembering these grueling months of nearly non-stop training and studying, months during which, despite everything else, he had been surprisingly happy.

“We... we called her our teacher, but really... sometimes I wanted to call her mom.”

Somehow, finally admitting that does no longer feel like betrayal of his own mother, not when he himself has so unexpectedly become a parent. It's ironic that Izumi is no longer around to hear it.

“I made a lot of mistakes,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek, “Despite all she had taught me. Yet she always forgave me. She always... She was always full of love. She didn't often let it on, because she was stubborn and strict. But she loved with all her heart. And. I like to think that that is the most important lesson she taught me.”

He fumbles, tries to think of something else to say, of an endearing and inspiring anecdote because that's what people like at funerals, right? Something that makes them laugh quietly and nod along as though they had personally been there for all of it.

But all of the memories seem so far away, so much has happened, since he first met Izumi and since he last saw her, and it all gets convoluted in his head until he can barely tell apart anymore whether this story features Al his brother or Al his son. But no, it had to be his brother because Al was already older than he is now and Izumi hadn't been quite so sick yet, and-

He abruptly cuts his thoughts off, realizing that he has been silent for too long and people are waiting for him to continue.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, “Um. I think that's what... what she'd like us to remember. To be kind to one another. And not do things half-heartedly.”

He doesn't know what to do then, just gives a sort of aborted bow and struts back to where he was standing before, grateful when Winry reaches for his hand and Al presses into his side.

Finally it is time to lower the casket, and Winry starts handing out gerberas to everyone to throw into the grave. Red for Edward, yellow for Al, orange for Mason, pink for herself, while Sig gets an entire garland of flowers, followed by all the other people present, people who knew Izumi, who admired her, cared for her. People who will miss her.

But for them, sorrow is momentary. It will fade and soften and blunt its edges until they barely remember it except for a vague afterthought, a nostalgic 'It's always the good ones who die young' but little more.

Ed's grief, however, is eternal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may think you hate me now, but everything will become even worse in the next chapter.


	6. Saturday, 2nd June 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait,” she says slowly, “You're not getting cold feet, are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are wonderful and I read every single one but I am always left tongue-tied. <3

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**Abandonment and Alienation** _

_**Dublith.** _ _While General Mustang was seen enjoying a leisured stroll through the botanical gardens at the Xingese embassy, his fiancé Edward Elric is forced to grieve his mentor and foster mother Izumi Curtis alone, holding a heartbreaking eulogy at her funeral. Though Elric was accompanied by his son Alphonse, one can only imagine the additional pain he must have felt at being abandoned by the man who plans to pledge his devotion to him in good times and in bad._

“ _He used to come by more often,” one of Curtis' neighbors remembers Elric's formerly close ties to the city of Dublith, “I guess he's really tied up at Central nowadays.” And that might just be the true tragedy of this tale. After years of illness, Izumi Curtis finally succumbed to her malady and passed away without having seen her young protégé in several months. Rumor has it that Curtis – an outspoken opposer of the state military – never fully condoned both Elric's early recruitment at the age of twelve and his intimate relationship with the one aiming to make Führer. Was a fallout the reason for the long radio silence? Or did Mustang discourage Elric from reaching out to the woman who practically raised him? Either way the fact remains that Elric might forever regret his choices and question his priorities. G. FALKNER_

 

They go to a nearby café because staying at Sig's is going to drive him up the wall with how people are still dropping off flowers and casserole because nothing says sympathy like dead plants and cold dishes.

He and Winry make their way between the tables outside, squeezing past a woman who has her long legs stretched out all over the aisle, and then find themselves a spot near the windows where they can talk somewhat more privately but still enjoy the sun.

Sitting this close to her, he can see where her make-up does not quite cover the dark circles under her eyes, and he wonders whether the marks of the past few days are etched onto his face even more obviously.

If he's honest with himself, then Winry is probably the only person who truly understands him at the moment. Sig's grief is different and so is Al's. But Ed and Winry have both lost someone they had come to consider as a source of maternal care and wisdom, the pain of it all the more jarring after their own mothers had been taken from them under such cruel circumstances.

A waitress comes and asks for their orders, and then they sit quietly once more, neither really knowing what to say now. After a minute, though, Winry very consciously sits up straighter, pushes back her shoulders and blows out a decisive breath through her nose.

Winry Rockbell, barreling on like a steam engine. Ed smiles against the knuckles of his fist.

“So,” she says, jutting her chin forward, “I'd like an apology, but I hear they don't serve these here. So you need to dish out.”

“What?” Ed asks without understanding, and she gives him a small glare that's only part joking.

“Why the heck do I have to read in the newspaper that my oldest friend got engaged?” she demands and Ed blinks.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “That.”

“Yeah, _that_ ,” she nods and shakes her head at him, “Imagine my surprise when one of my costumers told me to send you their well-wishes.”

She curls her finger at him with a meaningful look and he sighs, extending his left hand so she can peel the glove off him.

“Hm,” she hums, clicking her nail against the ring as though that alone would tell her about the quality of the gold, “So, when did he propose?”

Edward sucks in his lower lip, “In February.”

Winry's eyes widen.

“February?” she echoes incredulously, “You've been engaged for four months and you never bothered to tell me?”

Ed ducks his head. He should have known that Winry would react like this. Sometimes he thinks she still hasn't quite forgiven him about keeping quiet about Al's condition for so long.

Maybe she can guess where his thoughts are going, though, because she quickly abandons her outrage. After all, they had come here to cheer each other up a little.

“So when's the wedding?” she asks, folding her hands and resting her chin on them.

“Uh,” Ed's nose wrinkles, “We haven't really discussed that yet. So... hold your horses.”

He can feel her eyes on him as he pulls his glove back on, tugging at the hem.

“Wait,” she says slowly, “You're not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No!” Edward protests, a bit too hastily perhaps, “No, just... it's a big decision, right?”

In that moment, their waitress returns and places their orders in front of them.

“Thank you,” Winry tells her with a smile and takes a sip of her milkshake while Ed nurses his coffee, poking his strawberry shortcake with the tiny fork.

“Would you say yes?” he asks at length, not looking up.

Winry tilts her head to the side, “Huh?”

“If Paninya asked you,” Ed clarifies, “Would you say yes?”

“Oh,” Winry blinks, but then she starts playing with her napkin, folding and unfolding it.

“Ed,” she says finally, “Paninya and I broke up.”

Ed snorts, leans back in his chair, “What, again?”

But the way she purses her lips makes the chuckle die in his throat.

“Seriously?” he asks, eyes widening, “For real?”

Winry just gives a mute nod.

Her and Paninya's on-and-off relationship had always been a bit of a mystery to Ed, from their unexpected beginnings throughout their very tumultuous years together. When they worked together they were in perfect sync, like an intricate clockwork. But when they fought the pillars of the earth were shaking.

Their break-ups were as passionate as their getting-back-togethers. They usually fought over small stuff that then completely snowballed and turned into an avalanche. It was the same every time, rinse and repeat. Over the years Ed has counted about thirteen of these supposed separations, but none had ever lasted for more than three months.

Yet there is none of Winry's self-righteous anger now, no 'I'll apologize if she does'. Instead she looks strangely small, her shoulders pinched as she starts plucking at the napkin.

“It wasn't even anything concrete that set us off this time,” she explains with a forced shrug, “Just... now that granny has closed the clinic, I thought it would be a good idea for me to move back to Riesembol. I've established a reputation in Rush Valley and I have a good number of loyal costumers. So it wouldn't hurt my career or anything.”

Her brows furrow, but she's still not looking at Edward, “And... you know how granny is, she would never admit it, but she's getting old. I want to be with her. I already feel bad enough about how rarely I visit. So I made an off-hand comment about how I was considering going back and... Ninya took it the wrong way.”

She laughs a little, but it sounds wet and choked.

“Suddenly she was all, 'you can't expect me to just come with you' and I told her I never even said that and then she just explodes and goes, 'oh, so you want to break up?' And... it just got out of hand. We had a screaming match, but what else is new.”

Another laugh, a flick of her wrist. The napkin dissolves into tiny pieces under her prying fingers. “But... at some point I started crying and she looked really remorseful. So we sat down and tried to properly talk it out. Turns out that she cannot imagine living in a tiny village and playing house. You know how she is,” a fond but regretful smile thrown in, “Kinda like you when you were younger. She needs motion and action. And I get that, I really do. I can't force her to just up and leave Rush Valley. And she gets that I want to be with my grandmother. So.”

Winry takes a deep breath, trying to pull herself back together, “I... I wouldn't do this because of being unable to agree on which curtains to buy, but... I guess we just want different things in life. That's... that's a real reason for people to break up, isn't it?”

She's crying again and Ed doesn't quite know what to say.

“Win, hey,” he tries, awkwardly patting her hands that are still holding on to the tattered remains of her napkin, “Don't cry, okay? People are looking, so don't cry.”

“Let them look,” she sniffs spitefully, “I don't have to smile for their sake.”

But she still bites her lip, dabs trembling fingers under her eyes, though by now her mascara has created dark circles all of its own.

“So no,” she tells Ed, “I wouldn't say yes because Ninya wouldn't even ask in the first place.”

And she turns toward her milkshake, dejectedly sucking at the straw, leaving Ed to awkwardly start eating his cake which is nice and spongy but goes down his throat like pebbles.

Winry sniffs a couple more times and then seems to decide to put her own troubles aside for now, giving Edward a searching look.

“But what are you getting the jitters for?” she wants to know, “Seven-year itch?”

“We've only been together for six and a half,” he objects, stabbing a lone strawberry.

“Yeah, but you were living together before that, so it's basically the same thing,” she points out, and there's probably some truth to that.

“It's not... it's not that anything's bad with our relationship,” Ed flounders. He's never been good at articulating his feelings, especially if he barely understands them himself. Putting his thoughts into concrete words now is made even harder by the fact that so far he had not yet admitted his doubts to himself.

“I know he loves me and- and I love him, too, I love what we have and we just- we work, you know? That's not just routine or complacency speaking, we actually work,” he puts on a smile but it has difficulties clinging to his face, “But... all the rest. The press and people and politics. I wanna marry _him,_ not the entirety of Amestris.”

When he had taken down Dante along with the homunculi, he had thought he'd be done with all of that responsibility crap. He wanted to take care of Al and that was already more than enough on most days. He's been in the spotlight since he was announced the youngest State Alchemist ever. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life like this, especially not when it might prove to be bad for Al as well.

He shakes his head, finally looking at Winry, hoping to find an answer.

“So do I... do I marry him in spite of all that,” he asks her, “Or...?”

“Ed,” Winry says, her eyes wide, “Are you thinking of breaking up with him?”

It's preposterous, of course. If Winry and Paninya broke up for good no one would actually be really surprised; their relationship had always been too volatile for that. But Roy and Ed. Roy and Ed were who other couples aspired to be like. Havoc was forever envious of them, Breda described them as 'so perfect it would border on dull if it weren't for their libido', and most of the times when they were fighting it was just an excuse to initiate some angry sex.

They'd been together for ages. It's the only relationship Ed has ever had, the only one he had ever wanted. He cannot imagine the alternative. Cannot imagine not falling asleep next to Roy. Or waking up next to someone else.

But that's not where the problem is anyway. He wants Roy, he does, and he even wants to become his husband. He just doesn't want all of what that entails.

“I don't... I don't wanna seal the deal out of a sense of responsibility,” he says quietly, “That'd be... not fair. Not to him and not to Al.”

“I- Ed,” Winry shakes her head, somehow looking more shaken about this than because of her own relationship ending, “I won't claim to understand what's really going on here. This comes totally out of the blue for me and, as far as I can tell, there's a ton of other factors figuring into this that you either haven't mentioned or haven't recognized yourself yet. But I want to you not make any rash decisions now, alright? You're just... overwhelmed maybe. How long... how long have you been thinking about this?”  
“It got worse since we moved to Central,” he confesses, “But kind of... kind of since he proposed, I guess.”

“Oh, Ed,” Winry lets out a pained little moan, “Then why did you even say yes in the first place?”

“I was caught off guard, okay?” he cannot help but hiss, “You try saying no when he's looking at you all earnest and hopeful and nervous and shit. That's an immediate end to a relationship right there. I just... I needed more time, I thought I'd... But I've had more time and I'm still-”

He breaks off, breathes harshly. Across from him, Winry looks just as helpless.

“Damn it,” she says under her breath, even though he's rarely ever heard her swear, “This is such shitty timing. Why is it that when things start going wrong, everything has to happen at the same time?”

“Fuck if I know, it's always been like that,” he huffs, “Just promise me that, if push comes to shove, me and Al can crash on your couch.”

But Winry shakes her head, “Me and Ninya haven't decided who gets to keep the place. So how about I move in with you instead?”

“Shit no, the new house feels like a hotel, all big an' empty,” he says, “Also, weren't you talking about moving back to Riesembol? So how about it - you, me, Al and granny, just like the good old times.”

“You are aware that in that scenario someone is bound to end up dead, right?”

“Nah,” he drawls, “I think we've all proven to be pretty resilient in the past.”

When they next look at each other, they cannot help but laugh. It's not a happy kind of laughter nor a comforting one, but in Edward's book it's still better than crying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalalalala! *puts hands over ears to tune out your screams*


	7. Thursday, 7th June 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality finally seems to break down on Edward like a ceiling during an earthquake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And today on 'Has the author managed to make herself cry with the chapter?' it turns out that yes, yes she has.

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

_**Elric's Old Flame Replacing the Flame Alchemist?** _

_**Dublith.** Is Edward Elric moving on to greener pastures? Last weekend, he was meeting his automail mechanic and childhood friend Winry Rockbell in a picturesque little café where they engaged in intimate conversation. Is there an old spark? Miss Rockbell lost her parents, the Doctors Urey and Sara Rockbell during the Ishvalan Rebellion, and has since held a hostility towards the military, repeatedly refusing work commissioned to her. _

_Rockbell, who has just left an unfulfilling relationship herself, patiently listened as Elric spilled his heart to her, admitting to doubts regarding his upcoming wedding, daunted by the prospect of spending his life by the side of someone whose work will always come first. Mustang himself appears to be unaware of those same misgivings, a fact that further hints at the communication problems the couple has been experiencing._

_As Elric's return to Central is scheduled for tomorrow morning, one has to wonder whether he and Mustang can even have a future together. In the meanwhile, General Mustang is no closer to discerning the motivation of the Ishvalan Commemoration sniper, making the public worry for renewed terrorist attacks. G. FALKNER_

 

“We're taking the midnight train,” Ed says, redundantly glancing down at the tickets in his hand, “So we'll be back in Central by early morning.”

“I'll be waiting for you.” The warmth of Roy's voice is almost lost over the phone, tinny and distant, but the words make Edward blink.

“Wait, what?” he asks, pressing his ear closer, “You're not planning to pick us up personally, are you? Because that's ridiculous.”

“I already didn't accompany you to Dublith,” Roy points out, “The least I can do-”

“Roy, we'll arrive at like five am,” Ed cuts in, “That's way too early. So just... keep the bed warm for me or something.”

Down the line, Roy sighs.

“Then I'll at least take the weekend off,” he decides, “I haven't see you in too long.”

“Hmm,” Ed hums noncommittally, fumbling the tickets back into his wallet, “How's it going at the office, though? Can you afford to lose the time?”  
For a long moment there is nothing but the white noise of Roy's silence.

“Have you read the newspaper?” he asks eventually and Ed automatically shakes his head.

“Uh, no,” he replies, “Why? Something going on?”

“Ah,” Roy falters for a moment, little more than a breath, “No. Nothing that wasn't to be expected, I guess.”

“Huh?” Ed frowns, “What do you mean?”

Another beat of quiet, a fidgeting, Roy switching the phone from one ear to the other.

“We haven't made any progress regarding the sniper,” he admits, and he sounds a bit distracted now, preoccupied, “Just that he was probably politically motivated, but even that is just guesswork. The people are getting restless. The brass is, too.”

“You'll work it out,” Ed says, confident because Roy always does, “It's not like the guy can do anything anymore.”

“We still don't know about possible accomplices, though,” Roy muses, audibly tapping his fingers against the phone, “So they might strike again.”

Ed tries for a thoughtful noise but it comes out as more of a grunt, “Take care, then.”

“Don't I always?”

“Let me rephrase that,” Ed corrects himself with a wry grin, “Tell Hawkeye to take care of you.”

“Don't let anyone hear that,” Roy warns, “Or they'll make her Führer.”

“Might not be such a bad idea,” Ed chuckles, “In that case, I'd have you all for myself.”

He expects an answering purr from Roy, a lascivious comment or something of that nature, but instead he gets nothing at all.

“Roy?” he asks, “Are you-”

“Pardon,” Roy says from far away, “I actually do need to get back to work now. I'll have Sergeant Dornier pick you up from the station.”

“Oh. Sure,” Ed nods, “See you tomorrow then.”

“Yes,” Roy agrees, “Have a safe journey.”

There's a short click, killing the connection between them, and then Ed hangs up the phone as well, keeping his fingertips on the dial face for a moment. Around him, the Curtis house is silent and he tries to pinpoint why he feels like something else is missing. But then he just gives himself a push and goes to finish packing his suitcase.

 

They drop by the cemetery once more to say their goodbyes. The tombstone itself is simple but the grave is overladen with various kinds of floral wreaths. Al finds a nice big stone and transmutes it into an elaborate flower that he places among the other wilting ones.

“We'll come back soon to visit,” he promises and Ed tucks him against his side, ruffling his hair, and they walk back to the butchery like that.

Winry already left last Sunday because she had her costumers to get back to, but Al had asked Ed whether they could keep Sig company for a couple of days longer. But eventually, Ed has to return to his classes as well and there is only so long you can spend time together in order to actively grieve without sinking into depression.

Ed would worry, but Sig still has Mason and his neighbors, he has his shop and his patrons, and he will get by somehow. Now Ed only has to figure out how to do the same.

Sig accompanies them to the station, insisting on carrying their luggage.

“We'll come back soon to visit,” Al says again as Sig lifts him up into a hug.

“You should, considering the way you grow,” Sig agrees, “Otherwise you'll already be just as tall as me by the time I next see you.”

He hugs Ed, too, but then pushes him away slightly, just holds him by the shoulders to look at him for a long moment.

“Whatever you do, Ed,” he says intently, “Honor her memory.”

It takes Edward a moment to understand what he means but when he does he blanches.

“Sig,” he says, “I'm not a kid anymore.”

“Izumi wasn't when she tried,” Sig reminds him.

“That's different,” Ed says evasively, “She was.. she was a mother. She did it for your child.”

“Then you best take good care of yours,” Sig says and sends him off with those words.

“Daddy,” Al asks later when they are sitting in their compartment, “What did Sig mean just now?”

“Nothing,” Ed waves him off, “Just a silly thing I once did. It was nothing.”

Al doesn't look convinced at all, but Ed chooses to ignore that.

“Try to sleep now,” he tells him, “It's a long ride.”

 

So Al sleeps and Ed stares out of the window.

There is a sort of relief in leaving the epicenter of his grief behind, yet at the same time he dreads returning to Central. After all, he and Roy had never actually resolved their fight from almost two weeks ago now. This short hibernation would not have changed anything.

When Sig had called that day, Ed had all but forgotten their stalemate argument and when he had gone downstairs Roy had taken one look at him and known that something was terribly wrong. Ed had not cried, but Roy had put his arms around him and pulled him close.

And that evening, when they had told Al, he still hadn't succumbed, instead watching a little numbly as Roy comforted Al. Later that night, Roy had held Edward, had held him tight and not let go until morning.

Roy had forgiven him without Ed even having to articulate an apology. But that wasn't how things were supposed to go. Ed was supposed to be an adult in a mature relationship. He was supposed to properly talk things out instead of barreling right through his anger and throwing hurtful things at the man he loved.

Is that how things were meant to go in their marriage?

With jarring clarity, it dawns to Edward that he has no one he can talk to about such matters. Granny Pinako had never been married, Sig's grief was still too new, and Ed had never figured out how to talk to Gracia about Hughes without blaming himself for the man's death all over again.

In this moment, in a first class compartment on a midnight train in the middle of nowhere, Ed feels impossibly alone, no one to talk to, no one to turn to.

He had lost his brother. His mother had died. Hohenheim was dead, too. Granny Pinako wasn't exactly getting any younger either. Now Izumi had passed away. Is that what growing up means? Losing everyone who used to protect you?

One minute into that listless thought, reality finally seems to break down on Edward like a ceiling during an earthquake, but it takes his breath away like suddenly being submerged in arctic waters.

Izumi is dead. Izumi who was meant to be nothing but a teacher, someone to unwittingly bring him closer to getting his mother back. Izumi whom he had to bully and beg into taking him on as a student. Izumi who forgave him his greatest sins. Izumi who understood.

Izumi is dead and Ed was too caught up in his own drama to even have visited her in the past five months. Too caught up to realize just how bad her condition had gotten. Too caught up to even tell her that he was now engaged.

He had needed her opinion. He had wanted to ask her whether he was doing the right thing.

Because who else could he ask if not his own mother?

The letter. With a jerk he remembers the letter that Izumi had left for him, the one he hadn't even opened yet while Al's already has got fingerprints and creases all over.

Ed doesn't know what she might have written, but right now he needs this comfort, this knowledge that she has left something behind for him, that there were things she wanted him to know, words she wanted him to keep, some visible tangible reminder of her role in his life.

With weak knees he stands up and reaches for the overhead compartment where he has stored his hand luggage, pulling it down before he starts to rummage through it, searching for his notebook.

There. Caught between the leather binding and the very first page – an off-white envelope, royal blue ink simply reading _Edward_.

He takes a quick shallow breath through his nose, shaking fingers fumbling to open the envelope without tearing it and then carefully pulling out the actual letter, folding it open. The paper is thick and slightly rough, the kind you use for fancy invitations and the like. The kind Roy always seems to be carrying whenever he is traveling, when he sends Ed poetry and fantasies and complaints about the weather. The kind of paper that seem to say that the words written on it somehow mean _more_.

In the dim light of the train and with Al sleeping across from him, Ed begins to read.

 

_20_ _th_ _May 1923_

_Edward_ ,

_my dear - stubborn stupid brilliant wonderful - Edward,_

_it's getting close now and I can feel it with every breath I take. This must be the seventh letter I've tried writing for you but they've never quite felt right. Maybe this one will. If you are reading this, then it must mean that yes, it does._

 

_Part of me regrets that I have not seen you in so long, that I only have photographs and phone calls with you and Alphonse to carry me through these last months. But another part, a part that is vain and proud and stubborn still, does not want you to see me pale and weak as I am now. So this letter is all I have to give, a last lesson, though I am no longer able to impart it in person._

 

_If you were my son I would blame myself for how you turned out._

_But when I found you, you were already perfect. There was little I could truly teach you. You were always smart, always bright, always fiercely loyal and good. Maybe the only thing I taught you was hubris._

_But poor is the student who does not surpass his master. So here is one last piece of advice so that you may grow and thrive in the future._

 

_You know I am no friend of the military, but if there is one sly dog I have made my peace with it is yours. When Winry first told me that you and Roy were raising Alphonse together, I think I already knew what it really meant. I think you did, too._

_You might not have noticed yet, but each time he looks at you there is a question on his tongue. Don't be surprised if he drops it sometime soon._

_But whatever your decision – because neither a relationship nor a life are cheapened by not putting a ring on it – I hope you make it for the right reasons._

 

_There are hardships you have to face throughout a marriage. The two of you have been living together for long enough to know that already. Sometimes, these hardships only come about in the first place because of the relationship._

_If I hadn't married Sig I would not have gotten pregnant at that time. I would not have lost our child and attempted human transmutation. I would not be dying._

_But. Without Sig I would not have managed to keep going for as long as I did. Without his support I would not have recovered from my trauma. Without him, I would never have taken you two rascals in._

_Equivalent exchange, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. Joy and pain in equal measures. But a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved while shared happiness only ever multiplies._

_And trust me, my boy, death is not nearly as daunting an affair as it would be had I not lived and loved to the fullest, whether that be you and Alphonse, or Sig, or myself._

 

_I want to tell you so much more, but the sun is setting and Sig is coming to help me back inside, so I will wait for the ink to dry and try to keep my tears off the paper._

_It's a good letter, I think, and I hope you'll think so, too. I hope I was able to change your life like you changed mine. I hope you love me every little bit as I do you._

 

_Your teacher and maybe more than that,_

_Izumi_

 

Ed's tongue feels thick in his tongue as though he were trying to swallow around a hot piece of coal, scalding the insides of his mouth, leaving him speechless.

His entire face seems to be burning and it must be because he has been holding his breath. So he lets out a quick exhale and then breathes in again, only that the air seems to be running against a wall inside of him, spilling out once more.

For a split second he is sure that he must be hyperventilating, that he needs to breathe into his hollow hands and hope for the best, but when he lifts them to his face his gloves come away damp.

Sobbing, he realizes then. He is sobbing and his body cannot keep up with it, is refusing this punishment, and the tears are making his head hurt, maybe because he has kept them inside for too long, maybe because he is still trying to force them down even now.

He tries to keep quiet, does not want Al to wake up and witness him like this. So he flips up the collar of his coat, huddles up against the window, and presses a palm over his mouth, harshly breathing through his nose, while his automail trembles, nearly crumbles the letter in its grip.

Outside, the scenery flashes by in darkness, patches of it illuminated by the train's lights for moments at a time, never enough to see where they are actually going.

Home, Ed thinks. He wants to go home. He wants someone to wash off his tears and to hold him, he wants to not feel alone.  
Roy, then. He wants Roy.

Only a couple of hours, he reminds himself as exhaustion finally makes him drift off. In a couple of hours he will see Roy again.

 

 

When Edward wakes up, he finds himself in shackles.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so love switching things up every now and again.
> 
> Come follow me on tumblr for fic ideas, head canons and general RoyEd fun. :D


	8. Friday, 8th June 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell him I love him, in case I never get the chance again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who sucks at writing action scenes? I do, and I'm sorry to subject you to my pitiful attempt.

_FROM: FIRST LIEUTENANT VOSS_

_TO: BRIGADIER GENERAL HAWKEYE_

_SUBJECT: CENTRAL-BOUND TRAIN HIJACKED; REQUEST FOR BACK-UP_

_Yesterday evening, on Thursday, 07.06.1923, a passenger train running from South City to Central City was hijacked by unknown individuals. The abduction probably happened between Kadayr and Rush Valley and became apparent when the train failed to make its regular stop at the latter and attempts to contact the conductors proved futile._

_Since then the train seems to have been redirected onto old cargo tracks that are no longer in use. It is now heading South West towards the Cretan border._

_The number of abductors has not been determined yet but they appear to be heavily armed and it is likely that there is at least one alchemist among them._

_It is estimated that between passengers and crew members there are about sixty civilian hostages on board, among them Professor Edward Elric and his son. It is therefore assumed that they are meant to be held as leverage against General Mustang._

_We request immediate back-up in order to stop the train with as few losses as possible._

 

“What the fuck,” Ed rasps under his breath, blearily blinking awake. The first thing he becomes aware of is that he is feeling awful. For one he is lying on something that smells vaguely dusty and that keeps thudding underneath his cheek, and his left shoulder is pulled back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Shit,” his eyes snap open and he jerks upright from where he had been lying in the aisle of one of the second class cars of the train, his wrist chained to one of the seats. His automail, he notices at once, has been taken off him, both arm and leg.

The mere thought has bile rising in his throat because he can't remember the last time he felt quite as helpless, but then there is already a gun being pointed at his face and he recalls something more important.

“Al,” he cries out, pulling at his shackles, even though he only manages to dig the metal deeper into his skin, “Al, where-”  
“Stop moving around,” the man holding him at gunpoint growls, but Ed pays him no heed.

“Where's my son?!” he demands instead, bracing his leg against the floor to get some leverage, to feebly try and stand, “What have you bastards done to him?!”

“Daddy!” Al's voice rings out and Ed's head snaps around so quickly he hears his vertebrae grind.

“Daddy, I'm here, I'm alright,” Al assures him, though the look on his face belies how shaken he truly is. He is sitting farther back, huddled on the floor with a number of other passengers who look just as frightened.

A hijacking. That definitely hadn't happened in a while. And here Ed had thought that he'd already hit rock bottom.

After another long look at Al to ascertain that he really seems to be okay for the moment, Ed's gaze darts through the car. About fourteen hostages in this car alone, guarded by two men, both of them armed. They are unremarkable, neither very young nor old, bronze skin, dark hair and eyes, plainly dressed. They are certainly not military, don't even look like capable fighters safe for the bulk of their bodies. But they had the foresight to take his automail, therefore incapacitating his alchemy, so they might know who he is. Not a coincidence then that they had hijacked the train he happened to be on.

He notes how his face feels hot and bloated and his immediate assumption is that they must have hit him, but then it occurs to him that he fell asleep still crying, that the tears probably dried on his cheeks and left him all swollen with saltwater. Instead there is a bitter taste in his mouth.

Chloroform then. They must have overwhelmed him when he was passed out. Fuck. Chloroform needed at least five minutes to unfold its narcotic effects. He must have been really out of it, considering he hadn't noticed them sneaking up on him.

A glance outside reveals that it is just getting light, so it must be about five in the morning. He can't have been out for too long then. Makes him wonder, though, where the hell they are going. At least someone must have already noticed the missing train. Roy would already know then, especially since they were supposed to arrive back at Central at this time.

If not... Well. Luckily Ed was a paranoid bastard and always had a plan b at hand.

He takes a deep breath to calm himself. Then he turns big imploring eyes on the hijacker closest to him.

“Please,” he says, “May I see my son?”  
“You can see him just fine from here,” the man grumbles back, but he already looks somewhat evasive and uncomfortable and Ed can work with that.

“Please,” he repeats, even more heartfelt than before, “I just... He needs me, I have to make sure he's really alright.”

Good thing Al is as cute as he is smart.  
“Daddy,” he starts sniffling at once, “I'm scared, what are they going to do to us, daddy? I wanna go home, I wanna-”

And he starts sobbing, the people around him obviously uncertain whether they are allowed to reach out and comfort him.

Funnily, the hijackers don't appear unaffected either, exchanging a silent look before the corners of their mouths pull down.

“Alright,” the shorter of the two relents, gesturing with his gun, “But no funny business.”

“Daddy,” Al wails and scrambles to his feet, teetering over to where Ed is sitting, throwing himself at him, thin arms around his neck, muffling his voice against Ed's shoulder.

“Hey, it's alright,” Ed shushes him, though there is a knot in his stomach from being unable to return the hug, “I'm here, you don't have to be afraid.”

“I need to use the toilet,” a woman suddenly pipes up from the back, and then she is already being beckoned down the aisle, meaning that their kidnappers at least aren't inhumane assholes. So far.

The woman passes by Ed, her heels staggering over the threadbare carpet, and when he glances up he notices that she is glancing down from underneath her fiery red fringe, meaningfully widening her eyes at him. Ed gives a barely perceptible nod.

Once she and the other hijacker are gone to seek out the toilet, Ed shifts a little to give Al better access while still preventing big guy from seeing. Al has quieted down now but is still intermittently letting out a hiccuping sob. They really ought to sign him up for drama class once he started school. The kid was a natural.

A last scribble of chalk on metal and then Al is already activating the array he has sketched onto Ed's shackles which immediately come lose with a crackle of alchemical energy.

The noise, unfortunately, is enough to make the hijacker turn towards him, but by the time he registers what has happened Ed has already vaulted off the floor, thrown himself at the man, disarmed him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of the gun.

And all the while missing one arm, one leg and his alchemy, Ed smirks to himself, weighing the weapon in his hand as he puts the safety back on. Not bad.

“Al,” he says, turning, “Do you know-”

“Here,” Al replies, already pulling out the automail from where it had been hidden under one of the seats, “I can help you put it on.”

“Great,” Ed hobbles over to him and then sinks down on the seat while Al pushes his pant leg up, carefully aligning the automail to the port while Ed is doing the same with the arm.

“On three,” Al repeats tightly what he has heard Winry say on countless occasions, so Ed smiles fondly and then braces himself for the pain.

 

By the time the other guy returns, Ed doesn't even need the gun. He just knocks him out with his automail fist which is actually much more satisfying.

The redheaded woman watches curiously. She doesn't exactly appear unfazed but not quite as tense as the other hostages either. That's good. Ed needs someone with a level head.

Now that he looks at her more closely she seems kind of familiar, but he cannot quite pinpoint her. She is taller than him, taller than Havoc even, with short red hair and a foxy face, but for the life of him Ed can't figure out where he might have seen her before.

“What's your name?” he asks, watching as a small grin pulls at her lips.

“Gail,” she replies simply.

He gives a tight nod, “Thanks for buying me some time there, Gail.”  
“Well, I don't plan on making it onto this week's obituaries,” she huffs, blowing her fringe out of her face, “And I hope you have a plan to help me with that.”

“Probably,” Ed shrugs, “So first things first. How many passengers are there?”

He directs the question not just at her but at the other hostages who are only just now shakily getting to their feet. One of them is a ticket collector, sweating in his uniform.

“About fifty, I think,” he replies, “Plus two conductors and the men fueling the engine.”  
“And how many hijackers?”

“I saw at least ten,” Gail pipes up, “Two per wagon. But there have to be more.”

Great. Ed so does love being outnumbered.

“Did they say anything about their motives?” he wonders, “What do they want?”

“You, most likely,” Gail points out sharply and, when Ed looks at her in surprise, she cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he admits at length, “I guess you might be right there.”

“Daddy,” Al is plucking at the hemline of his shirt, “What are we going to do now?”

“Easy,” Ed grins down at him, “We're gonna contact your father.”

And with those words he pulls off his left glove, followed by his ring, placing it on the floor in front of him. He concentrates, claps his hands and slams his palms down.

“There,” he says, squinting to read the tiny inscriptions he has transmuted into the gold, checking whether they are complete. Then he activates the small array, watching as the energy sizzles across it.

“What on earth was that?” Gail wants to know, looking skeptical.

“My engagement ring,” Ed says, flipping his ponytail back.

“I gathered that much,” she says, frustrated, “But what did you do with it?”

“Exchanged it with its counterpart”

“But-”

“This,” Ed interrupts her, lifting the ring between pinched fingers, “Is the engagement ring of my fiancé who just so happens to have most of the military at his beck and call. And who is probably rather invested in getting me and Al back. Since our rings carry corresponding arrays we can make them switch places with each other via alkahestry. Pretty neat for exchanging urgent messages.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, “So you told him the estimated number of hostages and hijackers.”

“Yup,” Ed grins smugly, “And knowing him, the moment he heard about what has happened he already wrote something back...”

He trails off, eyes narrowing at the ring and, indeed, urgently scratched there by what must have been the tip of a paper-knife, an endearing message from Roy.

_DONT DO ANYTHING RASH_

Ed has always been _so_ bad at taking orders.

 

Ed's plan is simple because that usually work best for him. He just needs to win back the carriages one by one, take out the hijackers and get the hostages to safety. And maybe blow something up, because that would be rad. But safety first.

He has to act fast, though. Chances are that the leaders of the group have already gotten wind of what's going on because their lackey failed to check back in. Before they confronted him, Ed would just take down as many of the small fish as possible.

There are three cargo carriages, he recalls, as wells as five second-class wagons and the first-class one that had been empty safe for him and Al, at least when he had fallen asleep. He assumes that the cargo carriages are unguarded, so for now he just concentrates on freeing the hostages.

He worries at first because he hasn't really fought in ages. He's not out of shape, not at all, rigorously keeps up with his training like Izumi always drilled into him, regularly spars with Roy and Havoc, recently even started teaching Al the basics of self-defense.

But this kind of fighting is still different, the peculiar kind of adrenaline rush, the fact that weapons are involved and lives are at stake.

So Ed tells everyone else to stay back, even if Al _pouts_ like his parents had just decided that he would not be getting any birthday presents this year just 'cause, and then works his way through the carriages.

It's surprisingly easy. He overwhelms the lackeys, disarms and incapacitates them before they can can alert their bosses.

There's something strange about them, though, something not quite unorganized but reluctant. They keep pointing and waving their weapons, yell out threats and curses, but no one actually shoots. No one uses one uses the hostages as live shields, and there is something fishy about that, something that doesn't sit well with Ed.

He's come across enough ruthless and reckless people to know that this is not the usual brand of hijacking, and he swears to get to the bottom of this.

Eventually, however, something's got to give and Ed's luck runs out.

“Boss,” one of the hijackers yells into the board radio he has managed to snatch up, “It's Fullmetal- We need back-up, send Meera down, quick-”

And then Ed is knocking him out, but it's already too late.

“Dammit,” he curses, because he has a pretty good idea of what that kind of back-up will be. They know guns and knives won't help them, so if they just send a single person for him it must be that he'll be faced with another alchemist. And using weaponized alchemy within a moving train is a bit too much of a gamble for Ed, especially if his son in on board. So he does the only reasonable thing.

“Get onto the other car,” he tells the hostages, herding them back through the door, “Just stay calm and keep moving.”

They follow his orders, all of them obviously spooked, side-eyeing him as he barks at one of the hijackers to pick up his unconscious friend and carry him. Deserving of it or not, Ed doesn't want them to get caught up in the alchemical crossfire.

“Daddy!” Al is pushing his way up front, coming out to stand on the small platform between the carriages, the wind whipping his hair. Gail is hovering right behind him, watching him attentively.

“What now?” she asks, voicing the question Ed has been mulling over himself.

The best option would be to just win back control of the train but it's become obvious that he'll have to fight off that other alchemist first, which he can't do with all those other people close by. So he needs to stop the train but that might risk derailing it entirely. So there's only one solution.

“We have to disconnect the carriages,” he decides, wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, “That way we can all get away safely.”

“What about the conductors?” the ticket inspector asks from behind Gail, his eyes wide with worry, “You're... you're not just going to leave them at those people's mercy, are you?”

Ed purses his lips, thinking hard.

“No,” he says eventually, “'course not.” He throws a look to the side, seeing nothing but brown and beige flashing by. “Do you happen to know where we are at the moment?”

“I think they re-directed the train onto some old cargo tracks,” the man replies, “So maybe about two-hundred miles South East of Woehen.”

Ed nods, “Good.”

It's not good precisely. There's nothing but sun-cracked barren earth all around. Trying to make the track back in the midday heat is dangerous, especially considering that there are older passengers as well.

“If you move South first,” Ed knows, “You should hit the passenger tracks that lead to Utwahay. From there on you can follow them back to Woehen.”

There'd probably already be military personnel on the look-out for them. And even if not, as soon as they found their way back to the tracks, some other train conductors or passengers would eventually spot them. It was their best chance. Even if it meant that Ed had to stay behind for now.

He turns toward Gail.

“Please,” he tells her, “Take my son. Take... take him to safety.”

To Roy, he means but doesn't say. Nevertheless Gail gives a tight nod.

Al, on the other hand, seems to be realizing only now what that means.

“No,” he objects, clinging to Ed's hip, “I don't want to leave you here, daddy, it's too dangerous. You have to come with us, you have to-”

“Al,” Ed says, pained, placing his hand on top of Al's head, “I have to help those people.”  
“No, you don't,” Al objects, shaking his head in denial, “You're not a soldier anymore, you don't have to do anything.”

“Yes, I do,” Ed crouches down in front of him so he can look him in the eye, “These people here were endangered because of me, in a way. So now I have to save them.”

“No,” Al is biting his lower lip now, tears welling up in his eyes.

“It'll be alright,” Ed promises because there is no alternative, “Just... tell your father-”

Tell him I love him, in case I never get the chance again. Tell him I said yes and I always will. Tell him that, come hell or high water, he's the only choice I ever really got to make, the only thing I don't regret.

He has a hard time swallowing around the lump in his throat, but he convinces himself it's only because of the dry desert air and the harsh wind.

“Daddy?” Al asks uncertainly, and Ed gives himself a push.

“Tell him not to worry,” he replies, slapping a grin onto his face, “I'm an old hand at this.”

And then he is already jumping onto the other cart, clapping his hands and transmuting the carriages apart, severing the connection.

For a moment, he and Al can still stare at each other, but then the distance inches wider and wider, until the passenger wagons are noticeably falling behind, slowing down. Only then does he allow himself to turn away and begin to climb onto the roof of the car.

He's barely made it halfway across when he is already joined by someone else, opposing him from the carriage in front of him, a barrier between him and the conductors he needs to get to.

It's a young woman, barely even that, with her hair so short she almost appears bald, her eyes wide and hungry in her face that is gaunt from both growth spurts and hard work.

She's no older than eighteen and something in Ed rebels at that before he remember that, when he was way younger, he was already fighting battles against people who were much less inclined to let young children live to see another day.

She is light on her feet, easily maneuvering across the roof of the car, seemingly unaffected by the speed and the wind. While Ed has to keep adjusting his stance, balancing with his arms, she just keeps her cupped hands folded in front of her chest, like a gesture of piety.

“I'd say nice to meet you but I have a feeling you're planning to kick my ass off the train, so,” Ed yells against the wind, letting the wry grin slip of his face because his bared teeth only end up cold and dry.

“I really don't want to do that,” the girl who must be Meera replies, her voice wavering with the motions of the train, “Especially not after you let everyone escape. You're important.”

Dammit. So Gail had been right. They were after him more than anything else.

“What do you want with me then?” he asks, “I'm just a professor. Do you need a scholarship or something? 'cause there are application forms at the administration office-”

“Don't ridicule me,” she shoots back, but the muscles around her mouth are twitching nervously, “This is not about you or me.”

“Weird then how we're the ones who are about to fight,” Ed remarks because he's sick and tired of battles that are not his own. He's not a soldier anymore and this girl sure as hell isn't either.

He is also worried about her motivations in this. If she was not doing this for herself but for her family or some idealistic cause she might either be swayed by just his words – or she might be so obsessed that any reasonable approach would be totally lost on her.

“Yeah?” he asks, subtly sliding into a defensive stance, just in case, “Care to enlighten me then?”

But she just shakes her head.

“You can either come quietly,” she warns him, “Or I'll have to make you.”

“Pff,” he snorts, “Good luck with that. I've got some things to fight for, too, ya know?”

And then he is already crouching down, clapping his hands and slamming them against the roof, drawing up a halberd, and then charging straight at Meera.

He doesn't mean to harm her, just wants to scare her a little, push her back, make her give up. But before his weapon can even come close to her, alchemy crackles across her knuckles and it's like he is hitting an invisible wall.

Immediately, he jumps back, regains his footing, tries to assess the situation. His gaze zooms in on Meera's hands, still folded protectively in front of her. Against his will, an appreciative smile flits over his lips. Because the girl is wearing a clunky silver ring on her right middle finger, and he has no doubt that there is some sort of array etched into the metal somewhere.

“Not bad,” Ed acknowledges and unconsciously runs a thumb over the ring on his own hand, the one that belongs to Roy and is slightly too big on him, but Meera just stares back silently. What Ed admires even more, however, is the fact that she seemed to be controlling the fucking air, meaning his attack had been repelled by a sudden increase in air density.

Of course, it's not like he has never come across anything like that. All those years ago Lyra's alchemy had consisted of her using vapor as a weapon, and even Roy's specialty lay not within simply conjuring up flames as many people seemed to believe but in manipulating the oxygen content of the air around him and thus making it more flammable.

Ed knows how tricky that is, but he is also aware of how dangerous facing such an opponent might be. After all, air is everywhere. And while Roy was pretty much out of commission when his gloves got wet, Ed did not yet know whether this Meera girl had any such weaknesses.

But taking her down is not his priority anyway. For now, all he needs to do is stop the train and make sure that the train conductors are safe. Then he'd kick some more ass and figure out how the hell to get out of this damned desert, get back to Al, get back to Roy, and maybe then he'd figure out what the heck any of this was even about in the first place.

Due to the disconnection of the other carriages what little is left of the train has gained some significant speed, the men by the engines no doubt held at gun point to make sure that they do not slow down. But that is what Ed needs to do now, slow them down and not allow the hijackers to get to whatever destination they have in mind. The last thing Ed wants is for them to reach some rendezvous point for them to meet up with additional back-up.

So Ed claps, touches the roof and watches as the metal shoots up to close around Meera's legs, keeping her in place.

“Sorry, kid,” he says dispassionately as he vaults past her and she starts growling like a feral animal in a cage, twisting in the confines of the steel vines along her feet and calves, but Ed just staggers over the next cart, the engines right ahead of him.

From behind a strong gust of wind suddenly knocks him off his feet and he comes down hard, barely managing to transmute a handhold so he doesn't slide off the roof of the coal-car. For a moment, he cannot breathe, thinks he must have knocked the wind out of his lungs, but when he tries to inhale again he still feels empty, feels like there is nothing happening, and he flounders, thinks, panics, twists around so he can stare wide-eyed at Meera who is pressing a fingertip to her ring, her lips bloodless as she watches Ed.

Because she cannot just shift air density and motion to use as an attack or defense strategy. She can sieve the oxygen right out of the atmosphere and rob Ed of his breath. He opens his mouth, chokes, tries to speak, but even his vocal cords won't work like this.

He could die here. Somehow, for some strange reason, that had not occurred to him, not really. He'd been worried for Al and the other passengers, worried for Roy who was so far away and was surely going out of his mind. But when he had climbed up on this roof, had been faced with this girl who was too young to be able to kill someone, even if Ed had done the same when he was years and years younger.

He had never thought himself invincible, but he had fought the homunculi and lived. He had faced the Gate and lived. He had been bleeding out on a dusty basement floor and lived.

He could not die because some reticent girl is literally taking his breath away, not when she stares at him with her own breath hitching as if in sympathy, not when she obviously does not want to become a murderer.

But Edward can relate.

Throwing himself into danger used to be different when he was younger. Most of the time, he did it for Al, in some roundabout way. But even then there had been the knowledge that, when it came down to it, Al was more than capable of protecting himself just fine. Al had always been a better alchemist than Ed and a better fighter, too. And he had been vicious whenever he needed to be.

But... Ed cannot rely on that anymore.

This Al, his son, is seven years old and the worst pain he had ever experienced was dislocating his shoulder last summer. The worst loss when they got the news about Izumi's death.

Edward's duty – as Al's brother, his father, as the only blood relative he still has left – is to protect Al from all danger.

It is also his duty to survive, to return to his family.

Edward will not allow Al to become an orphan the second time around, too.

So he doesn't hesitate any longer, uses the last of his coherency, the last of his strength to clap his hands and touch them to the roof underneath his feet.

Once, and the metal warps around him, warps around all of them. Twice, and he is calibrating the oxygen supply in the combustion engine.

A second later, everything explodes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, good old hijacking and explosions. Gotta stay true to the original.  
> Next chapter sort of got away from me and ended up being really long. But it'll be worth it.  
> See you next week!


	9. Saturday, 9th June 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm sorry, love,” he says, taking another step forward, “I did promise you the rest of my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes even a lick of sense...

_FROM: FIRST LIEUTENANT VOSS  
TO: BRIGADIER GENERAL HAWKEYE_

_SUBJECT: PURSUIT OF HIJACKERS_

_Most of the hostages of the hijacked train were freed on late Friday morning and were found wandering the desert in an attempt to find the nearest town. None of them were physically harmed, though some showed signs of shock and dehydration. Among them there were ten of the partisans who had been overwhelmed and handcuffed. They have been taken into custody but remain silent. They are assumed to be guerrilla fighters of an anti-Amestrian faction._

_Several of the train carriages had been disconnected from the rest and lay abandoned on the old cargo tracks. No one else was aboard. The wreck of the other cars was found twenty miles further West. It is believed that alchemy was used to destroy the engines but that the explosion proved too powerful._

_All of this was probably due to the efforts of Edward Elric who is, as of now, unaccounted for._

_No bodies were found on the site of the wreck, but two conductors and two men manning the engines had been left behind. They are unharmed and report that before the explosion occurred, the metal of the train started to engulf them in a protective shelter. They also witnessed how the remaining hijackers, three men and one woman, escaped into the desert, taking an unconscious Elric with them._

_General Mustang has arrived at the scene and is leading the pursuit mission._

 

When Ed comes to, his entire body aches. But his right side is feeling unexpectedly light so he already knows that his automail must have been taken off him again. That, or it was completely destroyed.

He forces himself to remain calm, to keep his breathing even, trying to assess the situation.

Someone is carrying him over their shoulder, huffing under his weight, their collarbone digging into his stomach. There are the footsteps of three other people, dragging across the sand. So either the remaining hijackers had survived the explosion or they happened to have backup waiting for them in the middle of fucking nowhere.

He hopes it's the former, though, hopes he didn't kill anyone in the manic stunt he pulled back there. Performing alchemy when he was at the bring of passing out from suffocation wasn't exactly the brightest idea he has ever had. There are also the men who were fueling the engines, who must have been at the epicenter of the combustion, and Ed prays that they are alright. He might be able to forgive himself for harming the hijackers but not for involving innocent bystanders, especially since his intention had been to protect them in the first place.

But if there are only four people with him he has a higher chance of overwhelming them. Or maybe not, considering that he won't be able to use alchemy.

For now, however, he needs to assess his surroundings and he reluctantly cracks an eye open, only to find that this way it doesn't exactly become much brighter, except for the stars overhead. Night then, though it's impossible to ascertain exactly what time it is. Still, he must have been passed out for a while.

Shit. Hopefully he didn't have a concussion. That would suck.

There is one older man walking ahead of him, and another at the back. On his left is the girl named Meera, hunched in under a sort of poncho, shielding herself against the cold. Her cheek is bruised, probably from the a harsh impact after the explosion, but other than that she appears to be fine.

The one carrying him is quite tall and broad-shouldered, physically the strongest of the bunch, but Ed suspects that they must all be armed. Another thought occurs to him and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a curse from escaping. Because if the hijackers had been waving their weapons about when the explosion hit, the guns might have gone off accidentally and killed someone after all. Dammit. So he had saved his own skin but risked so many other lives, and he hadn't even hesitated, hadn't even though things through. The conductors aren't here after all, are they? Had the hijackers left them behind to save themselves the trouble of dragging even more hostages along? Or were the men really dead?

He is distracted from his thoughts when their party comes to a sudden stop and he is gently deposited into the cool sand that immediately finds its way underneath his torn clothes, leaving him even more uncomfortable than before.

“Marrek,” one of the men says, “See if you can wake him up and make him drink some water.”

As soon as the words are out Ed suddenly becomes aware of his ravaging thirst and he cannot help the small moan that escapes him. Around him, everyone stills.

“So you're awake,” the man says, and Ed figures he might as well admit to it. In a situation like this feigned unconsciousness is unlikely to buy him any advantages.

“Yeah, no thanks to you bastards,” he growls out, opening his eyes and glaring up at the group.

“Here,” the one named Marrek who had been carrying him offers him a waterskin, “Drink.”

“That better not be poisoned,” Ed warns, fully intending to drink it anyway.

“It's not,” Marrek assures him and takes a sip to prove his point, “Careful, though. We don't have much.”

“Well, that's what happens when you try to run from the fucking state military and choose the desert as an escape route,” Ed grumbles but then takes a sip and another, wetting his lips, his tongue, his throat.

He would never admit it out loud but he can tell that in his condition he really needs some medical attention. He needs rest. He needs Al and Roy, needs to know that they are alright.

Around him, everyone has their share of water and Ed takes a moment to observe them.

They all have bronze skin and dark hair, typical of the people who live in the area between the desert and the border of Creta, so at least they might know their way around and not get fucking lost.

There's some family resemblance between Meera and Atuan who seems to be their leader, the same aristocratic nose and thin lips, but his long hair is put into many tiny braids, only the right side of his head shaved, and Ed recalls some cultural meaning there, something about cutting off your hair after a devastating loss, grief or defeat or whatever.

Marrek's hair is long as well but he does not wear as many braids. He is tall as he stands close next to Meera and his hands gentle as he takes the waterskin from her, even as she does not look at him.

The fourth man is not much taller than Ed, on the verge of stooping with age, and Ed tries to pinpoint his function in this scenario, whether he is their navigator or their mastermind, but the answer eludes him.

“We should keep moving,” Atuan decides, keenly watching as Marrek shoulders Ed again, and then helping the old man to his feet, “Will you be alright, Keoha?”

“Don't mind me, don't mind me,” Keoha waves him off in a carefree tone , crouching a little to brush the sand off his clothes, “I'm good to go.”

So they go and no one speaks, no one questions Ed, no one threatens him. He's just there in their middle, both a burden and a precious piece of cargo at the same time.

Ed had already ascertained that, while his automail leg had indeed been destroyed, his arm had apparently been removed intentionally, meaning that they were still knowingly keeping him from performing alchemy.

His left hand, however, is uninjured and he is relieved to find that the ring is still there on his finger, that he did not lose it in the chaos. The reason for that, becomes more obvious when he notices that the ring fits more snugly than Roy's had, meaning that Roy must have once more activated the array and made the rings switch places.

Ed has to squint to read the new inscriptions.

_AL SAFE. WAIT._

Ed sighs and surrenders himself into his fate.

 

During their next rest, Marrek and Atuan wander off to take a piss, so Ed finds a rough stone in the sand and begins grinding the ring against it, hoping to scratch it up a little in lieu of transmuting an actual message. Then the presses his finger to the array, watching the alchemy crackle across it.

“Hey,” Meera calls out when she notices, kicking sand at him, “What are you doing?”

“Informing the military that I'm still alive,” Ed snaps, annoyed because he can't find any new carvings on Roy's ring. “You want me as leverage, right? So this is in your interest as well.”

Meera growls quietly, but Keoha puts a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

“What's going on?” Atuan asks when he and Marrek return, obviously having noticed the disquiet.

“He's seems to have contacted General Mustang,” Keoha notes and Atuan thinks for a moment, nods.

“Good,” he decides, “He needs to know what it's like to fear for a loved one.”

“The fuck?” Ed snaps, “You have some nerve saying that after endangering a bunch of innocent people.”

“Unfortunate,” Atuan agrees, “But necessary. And we instructed the others not to harm anyone.”

That... actually makes sense. At least in so far as it explained the unexpected leniency of the hijackers towards the other passengers, their reluctance to fight back. After all, not a single one of them had actually used their weapons.

Did that mean that Ed's violent approach had been the greater danger all the time?

His breath hitches.

“Hey,” he says, making Atuan turn to him more openly. “Did you... did you check the wreck?”

“Check it for what?” Atuan asks.

“Corpses.”

For a long moment, Atuan just looks at him with his patient eyes.

“No one died,” he answers at length, “We offered the other men the chance to come with us, but they believed the military would arrive soon, so they remained behind.”

“They will inform the rescue party about everything they know about you,” Ed points out, “Why didn't you kill them?”

“Why didn't you kill my niece?” Atuan counters, glancing first at Meera and then away, toward the far-off horizon, “I am not a bad man, Edward Elric. None of us are. But we have hopes and we have beliefs and that has made us desperate. We will not stop until we have a made a change, no mater how many times we are thwarted.”

Ed's eyes widen. “The assassination attempt at the commemoration,” he realizes, “That was you guys.”

“Yes,” Atuan nods, “And you've got my son in custody for it.”

“Because he deserves it,” Ed hisses, barely keeping himself from lashing out, one-armed wrath and all, “What the hell do you think you were doing, shooting at civilians like that?”

“Not civilians,” Atuan corrects, “We only wanted to get Mustang.”

Ed's fury freezes on his tongue.

“What?” he whispers because it's one thing to know that Roy had been among the people who were being shot at, and quite another to hear that he had been the sole target all along.

“We want the bloodbaths to end,” Atuan tells him calmly, “The overtaxing and the unreasonable trading policies. We want to not have to worry about our future anymore.”

“That's what he's trying to do!” Ed bursts out because he gets that Roy is facing opposition from all sides, but he hadn't thought that people were quite so disbelieving of his good intentions. “He's trying to make a better world for everyone!”

“And yet he's playing nice with the emperor of Xing,” Atuan reminds him, “What about Creta, though? They are getting leery of an alliance. Will war break out again? The way things are looking right now it is less a question of 'if' but rather 'when'. And you and Mustang might be cooped up at Central, but for us folks along the borders this will mean strife and starvation all over again.”

“But-” Ed tries to object but Atuan not longer seems willing to listen.

“We move on,” he decides and everyone follows.

  
“We're from a small village,” Marrek says into the night and Ed has no choice but to listen. “You can't even find it on most maps. Just a handful of houses, miles and miles from the next town.”

His voice is soft and quiet, but the others must hear him nevertheless. Still, no one interrupts him, no one chides him for talking to their prisoner with such familiarity.

“Most men work in the silver mines. It's almost three hours away by car so we leave before dawn and are back after dusk. The mines are dark and the work hard. Many ways to end up dead or injured. But it's our only source of income so we do it anyway.”

What does that have to do with me, Ed wonders but doesn't bother to ask. And sure enough, Marrek does not leave him hanging.

“Meera's father fell to his death. Her mother and her siblings are dependent on the support of the village now, but none of us have enough. Recently, the taxes have been raised to build another railroad track. Not one that will benefit any of us, but we have to pay anyway. We are plagued by droughts and sandstorms. Our river has been polluted by the factories in Dameno, yet our complaints have been repealed at all instances. What would a war do to us, when our land is raided and our brothers are recruited? No one cares for another death in the desert.”

Ed tries to remain resentful, tries to tell himself that this sob story still doesn't give them the right to involve civilians on their quest for justice or revenge or whatever, so he just keep glaring from where he is hanging over Marrek's shoulder, Keoha limping after them.

In that moment, however, the old man catches Ed's eye, smiles a little, sighs a little, and suddenly Ed just... gets it.

This isn't a cleverly executed terrorist attack. This is a man, who's had his brother tragically die, taking his gifted niece and every halfway able-bodied man in village to stage one last desperate coup in order to lure out and get rid of the one man they somehow perceive to be their greatest threat. Ed can only guess what newspaper they must have been reading.

“Hakuro's the Führer, though,” he says spitefully and he can feel Marrek tense but just keeps going, “Hakuro's an idiot, little more than an intermediary puppet. He keeps pulling at some strings and in turn someone pulls his. It's better than it was during Bradley's reign but there is still so much of a mess. Roy's working on picking all that apart. He incapacitates the corrupt delegates, puts a stop to bribe and blackmail. He's trying to do good without letting everyone catch on how he's changing the system from the ground up.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, “Look, I've been part of the military. I know how fucked up things are. But shit like this takes time.”

Roy couldn't just shake up the foundation and have the entire house of cards come crumbling down. Instead, he had to replace one brick at a time, till he had build a sturdier house, a fortress big enough for everyone to find a home.

“And anyway,” he scoffs, “What are you planning to do now? Sure, you've got me, but you probably also have an entire battalion at your heels. And even if you somehow managed to kill Roy, what would that change? Don't you think there'll be someone else who'll rise up in his stead, someone much worse? Trust me, Roy is definitely your safest bet in all of this.”

He waits for any of them to reply, to agree, to just see reason within all this madness. But they just keep on trudging through the sand, silent as the stars.

 

The sun rises and it burns Edward's eyes, making him wish for oblivion because then at least he wouldn't have to be aware of in what a miserable shape he is.

He is fucking concussed and missing two limbs, he'd been caught in an explosion, he is dehydrated and ravenous, feeling feverish and groggy from the reattachment of his automail, and he is separated from Al and Roy. This was a fulminant conclusion to the past week which had already been nothing but horrible.

And after all that – after all _that_ – he is now being dragged through the Southern desert by some wannabe guerrilla fighters who didn't even have a decent backup plan.

Not that he himself had any sort of plan, apart from waiting for someone to show up and save him. And, hell, did Edward hate being saved, but he would make an exception when it came to Roy. After all, Roy was very big on that whole chivalry thing and Ed didn't often give him the chance to really act on it.

Ed just didn't get why he would need someone else to open the door for him, or why you would offer your coat to some idiot who was apparently incapable of dressing for the weather. So the only times Ed appreciated Roy being a gentleman was when it came to food and orgasms. Because Roy always surrendered his food when Ed demanded it, and he always made sure that Ed got his money's worth when they were having sex. Not that Ed was paying for anything, but considering just how good Roy was it wasn't too much of a stretch to think that someone may or may not be tempted into laying down a good number of cenz just to get the chance to kiss Roy.

Aaand his thoughts were meandering into dangerous territory, especially since his crotch was still very firmly pressed up to the chest of one of his kidnappers. Ugh. It was really getting more difficult to think straight. In his opinion, Roy could really show up right about now.

Ed could barely even remember what they had last talked about. It had been almost two days ago now, on the phone, with many miles between them. And something... something had been off then, even when he hadn't been able to put his finger on it.

Now, half-delirious and hundreds of miles from home, he realizes what it is.

Roy hadn't told him he loved him. Roy always told him he loved him, on the phone, when he let for work, before they fell asleep at night, when they were having sex, when he messed up a recipe, when they were playing card games with Al. Told him so steadily and so sincerely, as if to make up for how rarely Ed managed to say it in return.

Words like that had never come easy to Ed. He'd always been more about actions than declarations. He barely even could bring himself to tell Al, and only when Al was either very droopy-eyed or tearing up over skinned knees.

But Roy always said 'I love you', only this time he hadn't, and that meant something, though Ed didn't know what, and Ed hadn't not knowing things, hated not being able to ask Roy, hated having only echoes to remember for now.

 

They are moving on foot. They have no chance. Sooner or later, the military will catch up to them and then there will be hell to pay. They had had the advantage at night, but now by daylight the plains would allow for them to be spotted from very far away.

Eventually they reach a cliff, the canyon a jagged line across the landscape. At first, Ed assumes that it's a mistake, that they must have gotten lost somewhere, but then everyone just settles down, no instructions needed.

So this must have been their plan, at least since the explosion, and Ed has to admit that it's a smart decision. Because while they might appear to have pushed themselves into a corner, it has the benefit of no one being able to surround them or sneak up on them from behind. The only approach will be to face them head-on, and for that Ed will probably end up being a convenient human shield.

Hah. For once, Ed is glad about being short. Because while either Meera or Keoha might be able to hide behind him, there is no chance that Atuan and Marrek had the same fortune. And knowing Roy he'd bring, if not Hawkeye, then at least some other sniper to aid him on this mission.

Ed sits and twists the ring on his finger, as much as having only one hand allows. Round and round, the gold even more vibrant on his chafed and dusty skin, until he looks up to look from Marrek to Meera to Keoha to Atuan. Then back to his ring.

“Would you be willing to negotiate?” he asks, for once keeping his gaze and gumption to himself. Next to him, Atuan just keeps staring at the horizon and its blue the sky instead of military uniforms.

“I just don't understand what you're hoping for here,” Ed muses thoughtfully, “You want change, I get that, you want something beside starvation and slow decay. You could kill me to prove a point, but then Roy'd put on trial. You could kill him and then someone else would sure as hell put you on an even worse trial.”

Or I might kill in my moments of madness, he thinks but pushes it aside.

“All you've managed to do so far is to endanger civilians. You're giving your people a bad name.”

And no one wants another Ishval.

“You could take a plea bargain,” he adds, “Surrender yourself, admit to what you have done. No one gets hurt and I can put in a good word for you.”

Atuan would have to take the brunt of it, but Ed was sure they'd be able to keep Meera and the other young men out of jail. Call it coercion maybe. Desperation. Get the press to print some pictures of hungry children. People liked that. People always liked children who proved that survival was the only option. Ed knew. He'd been the alchemist of the people once.

“So,” he says, lifting his head, “What do you want to do?”

He's not the only one watching Atuan now. Marrek is doing so surreptitiously, Meera openly. Keoha is nodding slightly, whether in age or agreement, Ed can't quite tell.

Atuan's eyes are calm, but the lines around his mouth deep.

“We wait,” he says and everyone looks away again.

Ed really shouldn't have expected anything else. Mere words so rarely changed anything. And these people knew it all to well.

 

Alchemy and Roy's ring is on Ed's hand.

 _WHERE_ , it reads and Ed has little but the sun to determine their location.

 _CLIFF,_ he scratches out, the ring between pinched lips and a tiny sharp stone between pinched fingers. The others are watching but no one bothers to stop him.

His fingertip hovers over the array, ready to activate it. But he hesitates.

The message should be enough, he knows, but it isn't. It never is.

So, on something much more than a whim, he painstakingly adds, _I LOVE YOU_

Only then does he send the ring back.

 

Finally. Finally. The hot air in the distance wavers and for a moment Ed deems it a mirage, but then the light reflects off of metal and there is a convoy of cars approaching at a fast pace.

Everyone stands as one, safe for Ed who has to be pulled to his single foot. Marrek is behind him, placing one broad arm around his throat, not a choke hold, just a warning and a reassuring gesture at once. Meera stands back, hands already cupped around her ring, Keoha and Atuan flanking her sides.

Ed takes a calming breath and keeps his eyes on the vehicles, knowing that Roy has to be on one of them. They stop a little ways off, forming a vague semi-circle around the five who are standing with the canyon at their backs.

Roy jumps off one of the leading cars, effortless grace followed by a straight-backed strut forward. And Ed is fucking glad to see him after such a long time, but inwardly he suppresses a groan.

Does he always have to be such a reckless idiot? You don't just approach an enemy head-on, not if you had no idea who you were up against. And yes, Ed knows he is a hypocrite for thinking this, considering how back in the day he had done it constantly, but in that case Roy was an even bigger hypocrite because he had always lectured Ed about exactly this kind of thing.

Roy lifts a hand to signal the soldiers who are following him closely, rifles raised.

“Don't shoot,” he says, loud but calm, and his voice carries over the plains. Dangling from a chain around his neck is Ed's ring, a glint in the sunlight, right above his many medals.

“I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to surrender my fiancé?” he asks in an almost lackadaisical tone, but Ed can still hear the tension in it.

The four Southerners maintain their stubborn silence.

“I have several of your accomplices in custody,” Roy continues, “Some of them chose to relay your motives. They told me about your village and you have my sympathy. But their hostages told me about what they had to endure, so you also have my scorn.”

Atuan regards him quietly, nothing but a slow blink.

“We want to make a change,” is what he answers at length.

“Change,” Roy nods, as though discussion philosophy over a cup of tea, “A big word. Do you know what you've changed? My plans for the weekend which were to take out my son and fiancé for dinner after they have just returned from grieving the death of a family member. You've changed the fact that my son whom I've done my damnedest to keep away from any sort of violence has had guns pointed at his face.”

He grits his teeth, “You've also changed the lives of about fifty people who will now be afraid of ever stepping foot on a train again. They had nothing to do with you but you got them involved in your reckless agenda. You're no rebels, you are terrorists.”

His hands are by his sides, white-glowed yet powerless. He must know already that there is a alchemist among the group, whether he figured it out himself or whether some of the captured man told him, it doesn't matter. His flames are almost impossibly precise, yet he most likely does not want to risk harming Ed as well, not after he is already so battered and bruised.

“A nationwide change, however, is a different thing,” Roy points out, “I could arrange for your son and your men to be released. I might even be able to order tax relaxation for your village or better working conditions. But that would only encourage other people to follow your path. Not to mention that it is Führer President Hakuro who is in power, not me.”

“Hakuro's term of office will come to an end soon,” Atuan knows, “While you are already running your campaign, weaseling your way into the good graces of the Emperor of Xing. We will not wait for war.”

Roy gives a bleak smile, “I have seen war. Enough of it to want to prevent it at all costs. But I do not refrain from using violence if I have to. You are four people against three dozen trained soldiers. What will you do?”

“This,” Atuan says and gives Meera a nod which she returns.

Immediately, the breath is sucked right out of Ed, leaving him light-headed. A faint wheeze crosses his lips before he starts gasping, despite the fact that it will do absolutely nothing.

For a moment, Roy seems confused. Then he looks stricken, rooted to the spot.

Ed tries to keep still in Marrek's hold, not wanting to waste what little oxygen is left in his blood, but even that is only a futile means of prolonging the inevitable. Under suffocation the brain can only function so long. First there would be unconsciousness. Then irreparable damage. Then death.

Suddenly a high-pitched shriek, a voice Ed knows all too well. “Daddy!”

No. No no no. Al can't be here, Al can't witness this, not when Ed might very well die here.

Because Ed knows what it is like to see the light fade from your parent's eyes, knows how heavy your steps are when you have to lead the funeral procession, when instead of real smiles you have nothing but faded photographs and a name engraved in marble.

“He is on the verge of suffocation now,” Meera warns and it is not an empty threat, “Make one wrong move and I'll collapse his lungs.”

Wild-eyed Ed zeroes in on Al back behind the line of soldiers, Havoc holding him back, his teeth clenched, shoulders tense, a speck of red among the blue, Gail's hair in place of Roy's fire, and guns and guns and guns, all ordered into silence, all present but unable to keep Roy from making a big fucking mistake because-

Roy takes a step forward.

“If you've got a problem with me,” he asserts, “You should take it up with me.”

“Sir!” Havoc objects but Roy only lifts a hand to stop him.

“Stand back, Colonel,” he orders, his tone brokering no argument. And why isn't Hawkeye here, she always knows how to stop Roy from doing stupid shit, but now it falls to Edward to make him see reason.

“Roy, you bastard,” he forces with the last of his breath because he already knows what's coming, “Don't you fucking dare!”

“Equivalent exchange,” Roy says, stone-faced as he keeps his eyes on Meera, “You're an alchemist, aren't you? My life for his.”

That's not what Ed had wished for. He doesn't want to die here, of course he doesn't, but not at the cost of Roy's life. They are meant to take care of Al together, that was the deal, back when Roy had proposed, and back when Roy had offered him no empty platitudes but just said 'I have a spare room', and unwittingly devoted his life to another cause.

That was equivalent exchange, nothing but that, and the Gate didn't get it, alchemists didn't get it, but Ed did, even if it had taken him years and years until this very moment to understand.

“Get rid of your gloves,” Meera tells Roy and he obeys without hesitation, letting them drop into the dust right there, a dirtied flag of surrender.

“Roy,” Ed whispers, his mouth dry. Roy gives him an apologetic smile.

“I'm sorry, love,” he says, taking another step forward, “I did promise you the rest of my life.”

They are his last words because a second later Meera has already started to choke him as well, making his back even more rigid than before.

“Closer,” Atuan demands, “Then we will let him go.”

Roy staggers the last of the way, willingly letting Atuan put a long curved blade to his neck.

They cannot be planning to kill him here, Ed thinks wildly. It doesn't even make any sense. They'd be shot within the blink of an eye. All their accomplices would be executed. Their village would fall even more into ruin with half of the population gone. Or did they merely want to set an example? Had they given up the moment Ed wrecked the train? Was this really nothing but a murder-suicide, a vain attempt for pride and glory?

All of this because of fucking taxes?  
Meera releases her hold of Ed and then Marrek pushes him forward, making him cough and stumble and fall to his knee, his palm uselessly scraping over the rough ground for he cannot clap his hands now, he cannot save Roy, he cannot-

The earth quakes, crumbles, opens up its abyss like the gullet of a gargantuan fish, and Ed is swallowed down, they are all swallowed down, dirt and small stones raining down on top of them, turning everything topsy-turvy, upside-down, sand in Ed's lone sock, his exposed automail port, his open mouth, and then he is spat out again, just like that, rolling a couple of feet before coming to a slow stop.

“Wha-” he begins, everything around him still spinning in sympathy, but when he blinks there is Roy, his figure seemingly close yet when Ed tries to reach him he wavers father away, making Ed topple over once more.

“Ed,” Roy's voice says roughly but suddenly from much closer than expected, “Ed, did you-”

“No,” Ed replies, faintly shaking his head, “Who-”

“Daddy!” Al calls out, skidding towards them, “Father!”

“Al, stay back!” Roy warns, triggering a hacking cough.

“It's alright, General,” Havoc waves him off, hot on Al's heels, “I think they we're out of danger.”

But Ed is barely listening, too focused on Al who is throwing his arms around him now, openly crying against his shoulder.

“I used my alchemy, daddy,” he sobs, the sounds too big for his small body, “Uncle Jean said I should use my alchemy so I found a stick and scratched an array into the ground. I found it in one of teacher's books and it seemed like fun, I wasn't sure it would work, I wasn't-”

“Shh,” Ed hugs him close, even if he only has one arm to do so, “You did great. You were very brave. You are a genius, Al.”

And then he is crying too, smaller and more private, but this is his son and there is Roy, and they are all alive.

Eventually, he has to blinks his eyes clear, peeking over to where his Meera, Keoha, Marrek and Atuan are caught in cocoons of hard-packed earth, only their heads and shoulders sticking out. Al really did go all out. No clue who he got that from.

Roy has gotten to his feet again, the blue of his uniform muted with dust, but his glare all the stronger for it.

“You have two choices,” he says, “Surrender and I might show mercy. Resist and you can die right here, bullets, flames, whatever you desire.”

Meera is fighting agains her prison, still not giving up. Marrek is biting his lip, looking heavenwards.

“Atuan,” Keoha says quietly, “Think of the boys. Think of your son. Think of everyone back home.”

For another moment, Atuan refuses to bend. Then, the fight goes out of him and he lowers his head.

 

Roy has to see to it that their prisoners are handled properly, but at some point Havoc just shoos him off.

Ed is being handed water and some plain bread by a soldier, followed by a bar of chocolate from Al, before a doctor inquires him about his injuries, so Ed begins to name everything, realizing that it's quite a long list and that he's really fucking lucky to be conscious right now. He's barely even aware of any pain, more of a underlying ache all over, a sluggishness to his thoughts.

He becomes more alert at once when he sees Roy step up to them.

“He will need a lot of rest,” the doctor relays, “There's not much I can do to treat him here.”

Roy gives the woman an absent-minded nod, but he only has eyes for Ed and Al. Another step and then his knees are buckling, though he quickly disguises it but reaching out to pull his boys close. Now that the danger it over, much of his smooth facade goes right out of the window.

And it fucking sucks because Ed has his good arm around Al and cannot embrace them both. So he just presses up to Roy who engulfs them in a big hug.

“Hey,” Ed greets quietly, the braiding on Roy's chest rough and familiar underneath his cheek.

“Hey,” Roy shudders out, holding his breath for a moment. Then. “I thought you might die,” he whispers into Ed's hair, “When you wrote you loved me, I thought you'd given up, I thought-”

“Bastard,” Ed hisses, even though the canyon suddenly seems to have extended, seems to open a gaping hole right across his insides, “I just wanted to remind you.”

“Can we go home now?” Al asks from where he is squished between them and Roy gives a little laugh, wobbly around its edges.

“Yes,” he agrees, though his hold on them only tightens, “We'll go home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, finally the reunion. But there are still some things that need to be resolved.


	10. Wednesday, 13th June 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost two in the morning when the front door finally clicks open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last stretch of angst...

**The Amestrian Standard**

**The Return of Central's Power Couple**

_**Central City.** The fact that General Mustang has always understood how to surround himself with powerful allies is nothing new. Ranging from his alchemy mentor Bertold Hawkeye, his adjunct Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye, deceased head of intelligence Brigadier General Hughes, as well as the Armstrong family and various benefactors among the brass, Mustang's ties have allowed him to build a tightly knitted support system. Therefore it is no surprise that a man as distinguished and demanding as him would have great expectations in regards to whom he chooses to spend the rest of his life with._

_Time and time again, Mustang's spouse has proven to combine reputation, good looks and outstanding intelligence. But all that pales in comparison to Elric's degree of integrity during the events of the past week. His presence during the abduction was crucial to the fact that everyone – hostages and hijackers alike – survived the ordeal. Even when threatened, incapacitated and held at gun point, Elric displayed a levelheadedness and caring nature that can only be found in people who grew up in the countryside, coupled with tenacity and daring._

_In this context, Mustang's own selflessness must not go without mention. The days of worrying for his family, the pursuit mission, the discovery of the train wreck, and the search through the desert had deeply tested the General's famous pokerface. Instead of losing his calm, however, Mustang only allowed himself a moment of reprieve when he was first reunited with his son Alphonse who had originally also been taken hostage but who proved to be just as resourceful and resilient as his parents._

_Yet upon seeing his fiancé in danger, Mustang fearlessly offered himself in exchange to the kidnappers who turned out be militants from an impoverished village which is also linked to the Ishvalan Commemoration sniper. Surprisingly, however, it was Elric who spoke up in their favor, claiming that people “learn from mistakes, not from punishment”. “This incident was just the symptom of a deeply rooted problem,” Mustang agreed, “We need to identify the cause before we can truly change anything.”_

_While some people have been confused about such leniency, many have applauded the fact that Mustang really puts his money where his mouth is instead of just painting visions of a less violent utopia. “To be fair,” Elric said when it was pointed out to him that those partisans had tried to kill his future husband, “I sometimes wanted to do the same before I really got to know him.”_

_The family has returned to Central to recuperate. Despite his injuries, Elric has also announced that he will be teaching classes again starting today while Mustang promised to do everything in his might to re-establish and maintain public safety. G. FALKNER_

 

On Wednesday morning, Edward makes his way into the auditorium, ignoring the curious stares of his students. His right shirt sleeve is empty and he's wearing a wooden prosthesis because Winry would only be able to deliver his new automail this weekend, but he'd be damned it he missed another lecture.

He'd left Alphonse at home to give him some more time to recover, mostly in the form of playing with Maple and Dandelion, even if Al had insisted that he was fine and didn't need to be mollycoddled. But Ed had remained firm.

Of course, Roy had tried to get Edward to take some more days off as well, yet that had only ended in a staring match which Ed had won.

It wasn't like Ed was severely wounded or disabled. As long as his mouth and brain were working and he could hold the chalk with one hand, he'd be fine.

“Morning,” he tells his class, tossing his briefcase onto the desk, “It's good to see you guys back, even if you probably don't return the sentiment.”

Free periods were free periods after all, especially when a professor was as little liked as he was.

He expects scattered laughter or at least chagrined smiles, but when he looks up it is to find worried faces staring back at him. Ed frowns.

“What?” he asks suspiciously, gaze flickering from one person to the next, but it's Imany who finally pipes up.

“Are you alright, Professor?” she asks, her eyes wide and her lips pinched.  
“Huh?” he blinks, “Yeah, sure. Why?”

Pointedly, everyone seems to swipe their eyes over his banged-up self, his empty automail socket, the bandages around his head, the burns and scratches on his face.

Oh right. There were some lecturers who canceled class because of a mere head cold. Yet here Edward was, just two days after his release. But fuck it, he's had worse.

“You got kidnapped, sir,” Sofia reminds him as though he might have forgotten. So Ed only huffs.

“I didn't get kidnapped, okay,” he claims with a roll of his eyes, “My train was hijacked and I hijacked it back. And don't worry, that's not the first time that happened.”

“What?” Kit asks, a little too loudly, “I don't remember reading that in the papers.”

“I would be surprised if you did,” Ed replies, “That was over a decade ago.”

A hush falls over the hall as everyone tries to parse through that.

“You would have been thirteen then, sir,” Mallory finally says what everyone seems to be thinking, and Edward cannot help the smug satisfaction that spreads through his stomach. He's never reveled in having to fight for his life, but nevertheless he does take pride in his prowess as a fighter.

“It was actually just before I turned twelve,” he corrects, trying to sound flippant instead of like he is openly gloating. It seems to work.

Another beat of silence. Then, “You're badass, sir.”

“Or so I've been told,” Ed says and then turns around with a flick of his ponytail, facing the board, “Now. Did all of you do the assigned reading? Should we do a pop quiz to make sure?”

Behind him, everyone groans. Edward just smirks secretly.

 

It's late evening and Ed is still sitting on the couch in the living-room, long after having tucked in Al and read him a bedtime story. They had eaten together, only the two of them, because Roy had to stay late at headquarters, just like the past few days. There was a lot that had to be settled and Ed understood why Roy insisted he had to do it himself, but... Ed just wants to wait for him.

He's dead tired, no longer even pretending to read his journal, instead just lazily running his fingers through Maple's fur where she is sprawled on his lap, purring reassuringly.

After his long absence, coming home had been a blessing, but now he realizes that he is not yet used to this house. It feels too vast, too empty, too unfamiliar, and the same goes for their bed. Ed doesn't want to try to sleep on his own. He wants to fall asleep with Roy at his back, to hear his intermittent snores, to feel his warmth, his presence.

So he'll wait, even if he has to sit here till sunrise.

It's almost two in the morning when the front door finally clicks open and there are soft steps on the carpet, the floorboards underneath creaking quietly.

“Oh,” Roy says, hovering in the threshold to the living-room and looking surprised to see Ed still awake, “I saw the light from outside but I thought...”

He doesn't finish the sentence, just trails off, just stands there, doesn't even come in to give Edward a kiss.

It's so late, Edward wants to say but doesn't because Roy does his best to avoid working long hours. Blaming him for this would not solve the problem.

“Made any headway?” Ed asks instead, carefully setting Maple aside and leveling himself off the couch. It's a little difficult with his arm missing and his leg unbalanced, not to mention how tired he is, but he just wishes to press himself against Roy's body.

“Ah. Maybe,” Roy hedges, shuffles on the spot and then turns on his heel, “It's too early to tell.”

“There're some leftovers,” Ed points out when he sees Roy headed for the kitchen, “I made couscous and-”

“I'll just have some coffee, I think,” Roy says, not even looking over his shoulder.

“Coffee?” Ed echoes with a frown as he follows, “It's in the middle of the night.”

“You should go to bed,” Roy tells him, busying himself with the coffee grinder, “I told you not to wait up for me. You have classes tomorrow.”

“Not till the afternoon,” Ed reminds him but he cannot shake the feeling that something is off. Roy is obviously in a strange mood that has little to do with exhaustion. So far, he has not even really looked at Ed.

“Something the matter?” he asks, sidling up to where Roy is standing at the kitchen counter.

“No no,” Roy waves him off with a weak smile, “Just a little fatigued.”

But Ed can tell that it's just an empty placation.

“Hey,” he says, placing his hand in the crook of Roy's arm, “Look at me.”

So Roy does. And Ed finds himself taken aback.

Roy looks pale, his shoulders slumped. The corners of his mouth seem to be sagging down, pronouncing the lines around them. His eyes are helpless, defenseless. With startled clarity Ed realizes that he has never before thought of Roy as looking old, but in this moment he does and it takes him a moment to pinpoint why.

It's not the first time Roy has faced Ed without any sort of mask on. He's done that often enough but that had something to do with trust, Roy willingly laying himself bare for Ed to see all of him.

This, though. This is nothing but bleak exhaustion. Acceptance.

“What-,” Ed chokes out and cannot help how his hand flinches back, “What happened?”

Another of those fragile smiles.

“Remember how I told you not to believe in whatever new rumors the press cooked up about us?” Roy asks and Ed gives a hesitant nod. “Yeah?”

“It seems I'm rather bad at taking my own advice.”

“What do you mean?” Ed asks, thinking quickly. He can't recall any disparaging articles since he returned to Central. But maybe something had been published while he was in Dublith? He hadn't really paid any attention to the news there, too submerged in his stupor and grief.

Roy lets out a slow breath, “There was one... about you and Winry.”

Ed blinks and then barks out a laugh, surprised but not nearly as amused as he hopes it might sound, “What, that I'm cheating on you with her? Yeah, right.”

“They implied that, too, but...,” Roy puts down the coffee grinder, absent-mindedly playing with the crank, “They apparently overheard a conversation between the two of you. Namely... namely that you are thinking of breaking off the engagement.”

All at once, Ed's insides seem to freeze up.

“W-what?” he stammers out, his own voice faint and distant in his ears.

For a moment Roy just keeps turning the crank, round and round, the sound of it grating in their silence.

“It was never my intention to pressure you into anything,” he says at length, still not looking up, “We can... we can just stay together like this but, Edward, we both know that the engagement is not the problem.”

Nervously, Ed licks his lips, but his mouth is all dry, too. “I... what are you talking about, Roy?”

Finally, the grinding stops. Roy lets is head sink, hair falling into his eyes.

“You're unhappy,” he points out and his voice breaks a little around the words before he steadies himself and plows on, “You've been unhappy since we moved here. Or rather, since I announced my candidacy. And I've... I've tried to do better, to be home more often and spend time with you and Alphonse and just... I want to be a good father and a good husband, Edward. But I also want to be a good Führer. And I don't know whether I can do justice to both these efforts.”

Ed's heart seems to have leaped into his throat, beating a frantic rhythm against his vocal chords.

“Are you... are you saying I've become too much to handle?” he asks faintly.

Because he'd tried to do better, too, to _be_ better, to behave and leave a good impression. He'd done his best. But if Roy didn't think he was cut out for the job, then...

“I'm saying I don't want your being with me to be the cause of your misery,” Roy says and when he finally, finally looks up he looks thoroughly defeated.

Realization slams into Edward like a freight train and it takes his breath away.

Roy thought he was at fault. Roy had been beating himself up over thinking that he wasn't doing good enough, that Ed wanted anything but him.

Was this the reason he hadn't been home? Had he wanted to avoid this conversation, pretend a little longer that everything was fine?

All of a sudden Ed feels like a hypocrite. Because Hohenheim had left his family for what he thought were valid reasons, and Edward had always blamed him for it. And this wasn't the same, their situations couldn't be compared or interchanged, but still. Some part of Edward had entertained the thought of 'what if' and Roy had caught on to that. Roy had been willing to sacrifice his own happiness to ensure Ed's.

But amidst all the mess of the past few weeks he had gotten it all wrong.

“You stupid shit,” Edward growls and Roy's head jerks up when he hears the anger in his tone.

“You think you're the only one?” Ed demands, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him down on eye level so their faces are only inches apart, “I said yes, in case you've forgotten.”

“What-” Roy begins but Ed just gives him a good shaking to shut him up.

“I want to speak my vows, too,” he hisses, “I want to promise you the rest of my life and everything in it. I want the press to have to call me your husband. I want the tax benefits and the stuffy suit and the forgotten anniversaries.”

Roy blinks a repeatedly and then stops straining against the hold.

“What on earth makes you think I would ever forget an anniversary?” he demands and Ed bares his teeth at him.

“Because one day we'll be old as balls and senile and we won't even remember each others' names, much less our wedding date,” he says, “Because that's for how long I wanna stay with you.”

There is a fragment of a moment during which everything is silent and they just stare at each other with bated breath. Then, their mouths clash.

“You damned bastard,” Ed grits out, already tearing at the clasps of Roy's uniform, wrestling him out of his jacket before attacking the shirt buttons as well, “You rotten, moronic, useless-”  
“You confounding, stupendous creature,” Roy has two hands and he is quicker, pushing Ed's pants down who then kicks them off, shrugging off his shirt as well, and then Roy is lifting him up onto the kitchen counter because that at least is easier without automail.

They've never had sex like this, Ed realizes and the thought sends a hot thrill through his body, making him whimper against Roy's lips. He hikes his legs up, the smooth foot of the prosthesis sliding along the surface of the counter, scrabbling for purchase, before Roy hooks an arm underneath his bent knee and keeps him there.

Lube. Fucking lube, they need-

But then Roy just reaches above Ed's head and opens the kitchen cabinet, pulling out a bottle of olive oil. Huh. That'll do. Quickly Ed reaches out and deftly unscrews the lid before grabbing the bottle and pouring a liberal amount of oil into Roy's offered palm.

Roy lets out a low growl, his hand already on Edward, first slicking up his length, and then massaging their way past his balls and to his hole, fingers teasing circles into the soft skin. Fortunately, Roy seems to be just as impatient as Edward is because he doesn't waste much and just slides his middle finger right in, making Ed arch into the touch.

Fuck. It's really been too long. Over a month since they last fucked, and even that had been a sleepy comfortable affair.

Ed likes all the kinds of sex they have, the angry kind and the cuddly one with mostly just kisses, the ones where he'll feel it for days or when it's just a quick roll in the sheets, a playful fumble in the shower. He likes riding Roy or bending him over, likes giving blowjobs, likes waking up to Roy's hand in his pants. He likes making a game out of seeing who can stay silent the longest. He likes orgasms, hard and fast, long and dirty, sensual and heavenly.

But, hell, does Ed love getting fucked.

He spreads his legs further to give Roy better access, trying to not tense up. Roy is breathing heavy into the space between them, eyes focused on where his fingers are pushing into Ed in a slow, steady rhythm. The intensity of his expression coupled with the feeling of being penetrated has Edward's breath hitch and Roy's gaze flickers up in response.

Not taking his eyes off Edward's he pulls back to undo his pants, merely shoving them out of the way. Then he poises the head of his slicked cock at Ed's entrance, slowly pressing forward, and Ed can feel himself yield around the width of it.

Instead of pushing all the way in, though, Roy places both hands on Ed's hip, thumbs digging into the dips of his pelvis, and then – with one powerful jerk – pulls him onto his cock.

Ed snaps his head back, banging it against the kitchen cabinet and swallowing a blissful curse. A guttural moan breathes past his clenched teeth but when he forces his eyes open again he finds Roy watching him.

“This,” Roy says, pulling back and then giving a deep thrust, “Is just a foretaste of what I'm going to do to you on our wedding night.”

Ed hitches out a small laugh, angling his head to the side.

“Fuck me on the kitchen counter?” he asks teasingly, “Classy.”

“If it weren't quite as frowned upon,” Roy huffs, “I'd fuck you in front of the entire wedding party.”

“Hnn,” Ed grins, “What would the papers say?”

“They would remark on the extraordinary prowess of their future leader,” Roy confides, “And his ability to make his breath-taking husband come untouched.”

“Yeah?” Ed's ass is digging into the edge of the counter but he doesn't even care, “What will the headlines be then?”

“ _Resident Genius Fucked Senseless by Former C.O._ ,” Roy replies, “ _Spinsters Everywhere Outraged Yet Vaguely Aroused._ ”

“ _Ambitious General Announces Plans to Reinvent Sex_ ,” Ed counters, “ _Aided by Professor's Empirical Study._ ”

“You'll need a lot of, _ah_ ,” Roy cuts himself off with a little moan, “Samples.”

“Yeah,” Ed agrees, “And over a long period of time. Years, preferably.”

“I think,” Roy says, “That's what marriage is for. Finding, _ah_ , new ways to have sex.”

“Can't wait for wedded bliss then,” Ed decides, lifting himself into the next thrust, urging it deeper.

“In that case, we'll have to- start planning,” Roy's hair has fallen into his face and he looks younger like this, like when Ed had first fallen in love with him. “Set a date.”

“Within the year,” Ed says because he's put this off long enough, “But... we don't need to rush.”

“A small wedding,” Roy gives a nod, “Simple. Only our closest friends.”

“Food,” Ed says, “Some good food.”

“Ed, love, I don't think there are weddings without food.”

“I want a lot of it then,” he bites his lower lip, “All of it.”

“All of it,” Roy nuzzles his cheek, nips at his jawline, “Whatever you want.”

In any other man it might have been an empty promise, but so far Roy had always done right by Ed, had always adhered to his wishes as long as they were reasonable. And Ed has never been shy about voicing his desires.

“I want to keep my name,” he demands, throwing an arm around Roy's neck, making him come up for a kiss. It was his mother's name, his and Al's last connection to her, apart from the blood in their veins. He couldn't just give that up.

“Of course,” Roy agrees breathlessly, “I'd take your name in a heartbeat.”

But it's the same for Roy, isn't it? Roy doesn't even remember his parents. He ought to be allowed to at least carry their legacy in this.

“We can hyphenate,” he tells Roy instead,

Another kiss and another.

“And Al,” he adds in-between, “I want you to legally adopt Al.”

Because if anything ever were to happen to Ed then there might still be trouble for Roy to get custody, even if he was the Führer.

Roy stills and for a second Ed's brain short-circuits into thinking that he must have said something wrong.

But then Roy is crushing him close, showering him in a rain of kisses.

“Yes. Yes, Edward, yes,” he says frantically, his voice trembling a little, “I hadn't dared to ask, you've been so indifferent towards everything-”

He sounds so enraptured, so elated, and Edward feels like a right ass.

“You're his father,” he tells him, lacing his fingers into the hair at the nape of Roy's neck to keep him still for a moment, to be able to properly look him in the eye, “And we're gonna be fucking married. No chickening out, no taksies backsies. We're in for the long haul.”

He can't believe how either of them ever doubted that, but he just claps his hand against the back of Roy's head and says, “Now shut up and fuck me properly.”

And Roy complies.

 

"We need to talk more,” Ed says when they are up in their bed, naked in the early summer heat, having kicked off the covers in favor of entangling their bodies.

Roy cocks an eyebrow at him, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, fine,” Ed huffs, “I need to talk more. Happy?”

“Very,” Roy says and nudges Ed's temple with his nose.

Ed is aware that he's bad at communication, that Roy is generally the one to openly address problems. But Ed cannot solely rely on that, cannot expect Roy to shoulder all the burden.

After all, Roy had asked him for his opinion often enough, yet Ed had always shrugged him off, swallowed down his doubts and his complaints and let them fester at his core.

“So,” Ed says resolutely, “More talking. You start.”

Roy gives a startled chuckle. “How is that fair?” he demands, but Ed only kicks him.

“It isn't,” he replies, “Life rarely is. Now get to it.”

Against him, Roy lets out a shuddering breath, as if steeling his resolve.

“If you want me to,” he says, so very quietly, “I can revoke my candidacy.”  
Ed stiffens.

“What,” he bites out and it's not so much a question than a threat.

Roy sighs, rolls over to lie on his back.

“You and Al were put in danger,” he says towards the ceiling, an arm flung over his forehead, “And, Ed, you almost died because of m-”

“Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence!” In a flash, Ed is on top of him, pressing his good hand against Roy's chest. “That wasn't because of you,” he hisses, “That was because a bunch of desperate and misguided people got it in their heads to- to make you their scapegoat or whatever. You are just as much a victim as I am. And I am not a victim, Roy.”

Roy gazes up at him, first wide-eyed and then suddenly very very calm. 

“No,” he acknowledges, pushing himself up on his elbows so he can kiss Ed, “I guess you are not.”

“I am fine,” Ed reminds him, covered in scrapes and bruises as he is, “Al is fine. Kid's a damn genius.”

“Mmh,” Roy agrees underneath another kid, “Takes after his father.”

“Damn right he does,” Ed preens but then catches Roy's smirk, “Hey!”

They wrestle around for a while until Ed has to admit defeat because he is missing two limbs but also because Roy fights dirty, Roy fights with his fingers and his mouth and he does it so well that Ed can only arch off the bed, surrendering himself.

Around them, the room is outlined in darkness, the house peaceful and silent. Ed is still not quite used to it, still cannot bring himself to call it his home, but he knows with a certainty that he will get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olive oil is actually a decent lubricant as long as it is not used alongside condoms because it dissolves latex. This has been a PSA.
> 
> It seems this series has been gaining new readers which is wonderful. :D You guys really keep me going. I currently have ideas for at least four more shorter sequels, mostly half-written. Let me know if you want a summary for them or if you have any more things you'd like to see in this series. :)


	11. Wednesday, 3rd October 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all this time and all the trials, Ed finally knows that he has done something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: After last week's update I belatedly noticed that I accidentally didn't include the last paragraph of the chapter. I fixed it rather quickly, but some people must have still caught the wrong version, so please go back to check whether you are up to date with everything.
> 
> As for this week: This chapter is so indulgent. So fucking indulgent it might just be the dictionary definition of indulgence. Call your dentist to get an appointment because this fluff will rot your teeth. Just writing it gave me diabetes.  
> Btw, the musical piece mentioned in here in another composition by Brahms, 'Waltz in A-Flat Major, Op. 39. No. 15, a favorite of mine.

 

_**The Amestrian Standard** _

**The Beginning of a New Era**

_**Central City.** After long months of anticipation and much secrecy, Amestris' hottest power couple is finally tying the knot. The state military's youngest General and as Central University's youngest professor have released an official statement regarding their plans. “It's about time,” say friends of the couple that is now entering into the seventh year of their relationship, “We've all been waiting for it, after all.”_

_'After all' being the many trials and tribulations that kept Mustang and Elric from reaching this happiest day of their lives. Both orphans at an early age, they were blessed with alchemical genius and an ambition for great deeds, allowing for a steep rise through military ranks and, even more than that, allowing them to meet in the first place. Though Mustang was Elric's commanding officer, their unorthodox relationship never reflected that, especially since Elric refused to become a mere tool of the brass._

“ _There always was that spark,” recalls Clover Haynes who used to work as a secretary at East Headquarters, “But who would have thought that, years down the road, they would fall in love?”_

_It seems that one needs great heat to melt fullmetal, and who if not the Flame Alchemist would accomplish such a feat? Though Elric himself have been known to say that he is not into “all that lovey-dovey crap”, one still remembers the train hijacking and subsequent kidnapping in early June which had both Elric and Mustang ready to lay down their lives for each other. Since then, General Mustang's popularity has risen exponentially and he is now expected to make Führer President at next year's elections._

“ _I'll be wearing my dress-uniform, naturally,” Mustang answered when asked about his fashion choices for the wedding, “But I'll consider myself lucky if I can get Edward to wear a tie.” The location of the ceremony and reception was not disclosed and only intimate friends are invited, but we are fortunate enough to be allowed to attend and have an exclusive interview with the newlyweds. G. FALKNER_

 

“Seriously, Elric,” Russel doesn't even look away from where he is fixing his hair in the mirror, “Who the hell gets married in the middle of the week?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tringham,” Ed gripes, even as Al lets out a scandalized, “Daddy!”

“Ed,” Winry warns, stepping up to him and pulling his hands from his neck, “Stop messing up your bowtie.”

Ed grumbles but lets her pluck it back into shape.

“The date has a special meaning,” he says, more to himself than to Russel, but Winry at least gives an answering smile because she is the only one who knows what he is talking about.

“Do you have the ring,” he asks her and she rolls her eyes, “Ed, of course I have the ring. I work with tiny metal objects all of the time, remember?”

“Uh, yeah, and I also remember when you forgot to install a vital part of my automail so that it froze up and nearly got me killed,” he points out and she bares her teeth at him in a more dangerous version of a smile.

“Weee are not talking about that,” she says and pinches his cheek.

“I bet Riza specifically trained Black Hayate to guard the ring,” Ed muses, idly rubbing the sore spot “And I bet she's carrying a gun, just in case.”

“I brought chalk,” Al says in excitement, reaching into the pocket of his pressed pants, “Teacher said to always be prepared for the worst.” But when he pulls out his hand again it comes away covered in white, the calk obviously crumbled to dust, and his shoulders sink in disappointment, “Oh.”

“Prepared for the worst,” Ed grins, claps his hands and transmutes Al clean again.

 

“I will always remember your name,” Roy says and Ed is trying really hard to concentrate on the words, but Roy is making it kinda hard what with the way he is caressing Ed's hand, “Your birthday and all of our anniversaries. I will always remember that I love you.”

“You fucking better,” Ed whispers under his breath, watching numbly as Roy takes the ring from Riza and slips it onto Ed's finger.

Then Roy is looking at him expectantly and Ed remembers that he has to speak his vows as well.

“Uh,” he begins, floundering a bit, “I always thought you were a bastard.”

There are scattered laughs from their guests but Roy himself seems unperturbed, steadily gazing back, waiting for him to continue. So Ed does.

“You- you drove me nuts sometimes, you always knew how to push my buttons, and for the longest time I didn't get it, I didn't get that that was your way of taking care of me, of making me angry when I was at my lowest, pushing me when I was grinding to a stop.” He takes a deep breath, “I get that now and, if you hadn't shown up in Riesembol back then, I never would have made it. None of it.”

He doesn't have to elaborate, not when most of the people present already know what it means. He's talking about the automail, about his continued survival, about getting Al back, even if not how he had always envisioned.

“So, like,” he swallows, gives a jerky nod, “Let's keep doing this.”

And he fumbles to take the ring from Winry without accidentally dropping it to the floor, his hands shaking as he grabs Roy's a little more forcefully than he probably should.

He's got no reason to be this nervous. Essentially everything will stay the same. He'd gone over this plenty of times and-

Roy's palm is smooth, treated gently by little but paperwork to keep him busy these days, but there is a small fresh scar from when he insisted on manually setting up a swing-set for Al and almost fell off the tree, and there is still a deep scratch on his wrist because he had tried to bathe the cats last week and Dandelion hadn't been quite down with that, and Ed knows that if he follows those veins up along Roy's arm, there will be a bite mark that Ed personally put on his shoulder, just because he could.

Roy's palm is warm and his wedding ring fits him perfectly, just like Ed's does.

Edward glances up, just a flick of his lashes, and then Roy is already leaning in, two fingers to his jaw to tilt up his chin, and his lips are just as warm as his hands, and that small irrational part of Ed's brain wants this moment to never stop.

But then their guests are cheering loudly, the band's music swells up, and Roy slowly pulls back.

“No chickening out,” he says in a low voice and with a smile that is all Ed's.

“No taksies backsies,” Ed agrees and then straightens his shoulders in determination, making Roy do the same so they can turn around and walk down the aisle together.

Al - who'd gotten more caught up in the organization of the wedding than his fathers had – had insisted on scattering flowers. So, accompanied by eleven-year Elysia, he walks ahead, both of them holding small wicker baskets and letting red and white rose petals raining down on their path.

“Did you know,” Roy whispers conspiratorially, leaning in close, “That scattering flowers is meant to bless a marriage with children?”

“If this is a 'I'll fuck you till you cannot help but conceive'-joke,” Ed growls back, “I will turn myself in a widower right this very moment.”

“Non-sense,” Roy chuckles, “It's just rather fitting, don't you think?”

And then they have reached he end of the aisle where there is a table and a registrar already waiting with the paperwork. Ed signs the document, Roy signs the document, and Al demands that he gets to sign it, too, and it's just a stupid scrap of paper, but it means that they are a family now for all the world to see, Ed and Roy married, and Al adopted by Roy, sealing the trinity of when Ed had put his name under a fake birth certificate, more than seven years ago.

“Now,” Roy says, once Al has set the fountain pen down and is blowing at the ink to make it dry more quickly, “Shall we dance?”

 

So they dance because Roy loves dancing and this is something _he_ had insisted on. He chose the music, too, an airy dreamy waltz, and Ed already loves and hates it a little because he knows he'll be subjected to listening to it for the rest of his life whenever Roy is feeling romantic or nostalgic or tired or cross.

Roy is so into it he isn't even trying to cop a feel, just breezing over the dance floor with something between a smug smirk and a dopey grin. And for once Ed is grateful that he's so used to waltzing that he neither has to look down at his feet nor slip into a proper dancing stance and face the opposite way, but can instead just watch Roy be happy instead.

At their sidelines he sees Jean and Riza joining in, though it is obvious just who is leading who. A twirl, and there are Winry and Paninya, neither of them having a clue of what a waltz is so that they are just swaying on the spot. Gracia sweeping past with her boyfriend Rupert. Fletcher and Shezka, somewhat less graceful but still in good spirits. Elysia bugging Russel till he relents. Al and Pinako, conveniently at eye level.

At some point Chris butts in, smirking at Ed with a curl of her lips, and then she and Roy are off, all light-footed grace and complicated steps. So Ed goes and gives Pinako a mocking little bow and an invitation, and then it's him and Winry, and Sig is twirling around with Al and Elysia sitting in the crooks of his arms, laughing in delight.

Finally, food, and this is what Ed had insisted on. Roy had claimed that usually on weddings the guests had two dishes to choose from, meat and fish, but Ed had said 'what the fuck, it's my wedding', and ordered two of each. And also catered a buffet.

So he has salmon and steak and then salmon and steak again, and later, he knows, there will be strawberry and raspberry cake, courtesy of Gracia. In the shape of a heart, admittedly, but gift horses and all that.

In between, people are clinking spoons against glasses, rising to stand and hold speeches, Winry's tongue-in-cheek, Jean's with a maudlin little sigh at the end because he is still single, Chris with wonderfully embarrassing anecdotes about Roy's childhood that Ed later passes her a crisp cenz note for, Elysia just smiling broadly, claiming she totally called it from it from the beginning.

And at the end, when everyone – safe for Ed, naturally – is already sated, Al clambers up to stand on his chair and, with his cheeks puffed up like that he looks like a little hamster.

“I,” he declares grandly and to the fond adoration of those gathered, “Have the best parents in the world!”

Ed doesn't cry or anything, but he nearly does fall off his chair, feebly grasping the tablecloth, only held there by Roy's subtle hand on his elbow. Because after all this, after all this time and all the trials, Ed finally knows that he has done something right.

And when Al turns his bright green eyes to him, all he can do is smile in response.

 

“So,” Ed asks Paninya, “How's med school treating you?”

She gives him a wide grin. “I'm like five years older than everyone else,” she says, “But last week the professor asked us how automail surgery works and I totally nailed it.”

And they fist-bump across the table, the chink of metal among the happy chatter of the other guests.

Winry had never outright said it but he suspected that, thanks to the whole fiasco in the summer, she and Paninya had reconsidered, had sat down once more and talked things out, trying to find some sort of compromise that both could be content with. So they had agreed to move back to Riesembol for the foreseeable future, too keep granny Pinako company, keep Rockbell automail running.

When I kick the bucket, they can always move back to Rush Valley, Pinako had said and Ed had given a sly smile in response and asked, So what's that, forty years?

Until then, Paninya would pursue a medical career at West City University so she could perform automail surgery herself. It would mean a long distance relationship for her and Winry but both seemed to be pretty keen on the idea.

“Yanno,” Paninya says thoughtfully, downing her champagne like water, “If you think about it, if it weren't for your crazy journey back then, Win and me never would have happened.”

“Hmm,” Ed hums, “Lot of things wouldn't have.”

“Yeah,” she grins, “Like you sucking Mister Führer's dick on a regular.”

Ed is glad he doesn't drink any champagne because the water he spits out will at least dry on the table cloth.

 

“Now,” Roy says at some point, “I'm afraid duty calls.”

“Yeah yeah,” Ed relents, standing up, “Let's get this stupid interview out of the way.”

“Of course,” Roy agrees and leads him along into the ante-chamber where a weedy-looking guy and a tall red-headed woman in a tasteful cream-colored sheath dress are already waiting.

Ed comes to an abrupt halt, blinking and confused.

“Edward,” Roy says grandly, “This is Gail Falkner, writer of the rather popular gossip column in the _Amestrian Standard_. I believe you already know each other.”

“I so despise the word gossip,” Gail says, gracefully extending her hand to shake Roy's, “There is rather a lot of research involved in my work, you know?”

“Yeah, if by research you mean stalking,” Ed snaps, staring at her in disbelief because suddenly he understands why she had seemed so familiar when she introduced herself during the hijacking. Because she had been there during assorted press conferences, but she'd also followed him to fucking Dublith to attend Izumi's funeral, to listen in on his conversation with Winry at the café. That's why so much private stuff had ended up in the newspaper, why his life had almost disintegrated into catchy headlines and nasty insinuations.

But Gail just gives an elegant shrug. “Gotta earn my living somehow,” she claims and doesn't look remorseful in the least. So Ed turns accusing eyes on Roy.

“You will notice that we've been getting much better press than before,” Roy says diplomatically, “That is, since Miss Falkner was among the hostages you managed to save, she was much more amenable to changing her opinion of us.”

“We move with the times,” she sighs, her lofty words so at odds with the sharp-witted woman Ed had met on a train that he knows this is as much a facade as Roy's poker face is.

“And right now the times demand a personification of hope and perseverance.” She snaps her fingers to beckon her photographer. “So please,” she tells Ed and Roy, “Do try to look madly in love.”

“That,” Roy amends and places a hand on Ed's lower back, “Will be no problem at all.”

Ed just flips him the finger, wedding ring and all.

 

They end up dancing again, with the lights and the music turned low, and no one daring to cut in, and this is better than the waltz, better than the foxtrot, because Ed gets away with cuddling up close to Roy in public.

“Have I told you yet that you look absolutely radiant?” Roy asks and Ed languidly blinks up at him.

“Have I punched you yet for being corny?”

“No, not yet,” Roy muses, “So I'll just keep trying my luck.”

“You, um, you look good, too,” Ed amends, awkward because this shit is difficult if he isn't all woozy from kisses and orgasms. Roy seems to know that because he just smiles and leans down to kiss him, just a slow prolonged touch.

“You do realize that after today I will probably become even more protective and possessive than before, right?” he wonders aloud, sounding somewhat chagrined.

“I think I can handle it,” Ed huffs, because Roy has always been very careful about leaving him his liberties. “And,” he adds with mild embarrassment, “I like you being like that.”

Roy pulls himself up to stand a little straight. “Oh?” he asks, pleasantly surprised, “That's good because Russel has been staring at your ass all evening and I don't like it.”

“Ugh,” Ed pulls a face, unsure whether Roy is joking or not, “Don't worry, that ass is definitely all yours.”

“That's even better,” Roy purrs and then they keep dancing, back to comfortable silence, their hands naturally coming to hold on to each other, resting against Roy's shoulder.

Ed had offered to fix Roy's engagement ring, to smooth out the scratches, but initially Roy had refused. It had taken Ed half an hour to finally tickle the reason out of him. Because, Roy had said slowly, It was the first time you told me 'I love you' without me having to say it first.

And Ed had felt quite ashamed right there because he knew it to be true. He had stolen the ring nevertheless, but when he had transmuted the scars out of its surface he had left the shaky little _I LOVE YOU_ right there on its outside for everyone to see if they ever bothered to look closely, and he had vowed to say it more often in the future.

“Got your red stone after all, hm?” Roy teases now, smiling down at their entwined hands and the new silver bands encircling their fingers.

“Nah,” Ed says, flicking a nail against against the gem, a small ruby to match Roy's sapphire, “This one's better.”

His favorite part, though - apart from the fact that a ring is always an uroboros, the epitome of perfection and the symbol of eternity, the core element of every alchemical array – his favorite part are the engravings on the inside, the tiny almost illegible letters that will forever remind him of this day.

_Don't forget 3. Oct. 23_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather Christian wedding, but '03 is kinda vague on how the whole religion thing holds up.  
> I obviously chose the rings for their color coding but also for their additional symbolism. Instead of gold and perfection I wanted silver's durability, strength and persistence. Ruby stands for fire and passion, but it also wards off nightmares and foolish thoughts. Sapphire represents power, wise judgment and protection against treachery. It also supposedly protects the wearer's eye sight, if you catch my drift. :P  
> Also, I'm not a big fan of roses, but red and white ones represent unity.  
> My friends had a heart-shaped strawberry AND raspberry cake for their wedding and at first I was like what, but it tasted like magic.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where the heart is.

Ed had demanded a honeymoon, and Roy had insisted on getting to choose the place. Considering he picked Riesembol, Ed can't even find it in himself to playfully complain.

So instead of lounging around in the decadent suite of some five-star hotel, they help Winry and Paninya redecorate the house and upgrade the workroom. They help bring in the sheep from the more remote pastures and are invited to malt beer at the local pub. Al finds out that one of the farms just had a litter of kittens and makes Ed discover the limitations of his will power. They visit Trisha and Hohenheim's graves, and Roy repeats his vows to them, kisses Edward in front of their tombstones as though this were the logical extension of their wedding ceremony.

One evening, half of the village has gathered around a huge bonfire, dancing and laughing and drinking, and Roy looks at the flames and seems at ease.

That is, until one of the women dances up to steal him away, sending Edward a frisky wink which Ed replies to with a laugh, until a girl from his former class pulls him up to dance as well. Roy is quite quick to return to him then and they jig around the fire till they are dizzy with it.

“I'm taking the boy for a night walk,” Pinako announces at some point, a lantern already in her hand, because this is what she had done when they had been growing up, led them by the hands and into the forest to show them foxes and fireflies.

“I think we'll stay here for a while longer,” Winry says with a meaningful look at Paninya who is arm-wrestling with the mayor's son. Then, with a different kind of meaningful look at Ed and Roy, she adds, “You can already go ahead if you wanna.”

“I believe we might just do that,” Roy replies smoothly before Ed even has the time to blush, and then they are already walking back to the Rockbell house, arm in arm.

“Please tell me that you have spent a significant amount of sleepovers at this place,” Roy begs him when they have slammed the door shut behind themselves and are two minutes into making out.

“What-,” Ed brings forth between kisses, “Sure I have, but _why_?”

“Making love to you in the house where you grew up,” Roy gives a smirk, “A guilty fantasy of mine.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” Ed gripes, even as he is losing his shirt, “The absolute-”

 

“Best,” he moans half an hour later, “The absolute best. Roy, please, c'mon on, don't be a shit.”

Roy clicks his tongue. “Changed your tone quite easily there, didn't you?” he comments lightly, and how is he sounding so unaffected by all of this when Ed is going to pieces?

“Please,” he begs again, pushing his ass back and against Roy's fingers, “Who knows how much time we have left?”

"Oh, we have all the time in the world,” Roy chuckles, running a hand from Ed's tailbone and all the way along his spine till he reaches the back of his neck and pushes him down, “And if we are interrupted, we can always just stop.”

“Don't you fucking dare,” Ed hisses, “You damned bastard, you-”

“Ah,” Roy says warningly, twisting a few strands of blond hair around his fingers and giving a short yank, “What were you going to say? And do try to be more eloquent this time.”

Ed licks his lips, breathes quickly through his nose.

“Fuck me,” he says at length, “Fuck me, make love to me, I don't care what you wanna call it, just... I can't wait anymore. I need you to- to just-”

He can feel the head of Roy's cock at his entrance for just another maddening moment, and then a split second later he is filled to the brim, is moaning into the pillow lest the whole village hears.

Roy drapes himself across his back, and it's warm and sweaty and heavy, and there is something glorious about that weight, that heat, that feeling of being fully engulfed and then fucked so sensually, with Roy moving his hips in long, slow, strong strokes. But the pacing is maddening because, just before, everything had been so intense, so dragged out, Ed teetering at the edge, and now he is still there, suspended, with no way to move, to speed things up.

“Roy,” he whines, eyes clenched shut, trying to buck his hips but failing, feebly rubbing his erection against the sheets instead.

“Shh,” Roy whispers back, pressing a lingering kiss against Ed's temple. “We have time,” he reminds him and his words would almost sound wise if it weren't for the way he teasingly drags his cock out of Ed and then roughly pushes back in, “We have time.”

 

He slips into his shorts, slips onto the balcony, and the night air prickles across his bare skin.

It's early October and the days are still warm and golden, but as soon as the sun sets everything is almost wintry cold.

He doesn't mind, though, just leans his elbows onto the banister and gazes up at the stars that are so much brighter here than they ever are in the cities. Sometimes, he knows, it's good to remind yourself of where you came from.

The party by the bonfire is still going strong, but Ed's gaze is drawn to the night-dark valley with its slow winding path that leads back to his old school in the neighboring village. The river they dipped their feet in when it was still too early to speak of summer and the blackberry bushes growing along the bank. The outskirts of the forest where they would play hide and seek for hours until it was time for dinner and mom would call for them.

Al and Pinako must be one their way back now, probably walking hand-in-hand, surrounded by the noises of the night, and Al would be spooked and excited, and he'd walk through the door telling Ed about everything that had happened, but as soon as his head touched the pillow he'd be sleeping like a rock, only roused in the morning when the smell of pancakes and freshly baked bread wafted into his dreams.

Ed snorts to himself and, almost all by itself, his flesh hand finds the beaten-up lantern that still sits on the banister. There are no matches, but Ed merely has to clap his hands and remember Roy's arrays to light the wick inside.

With his eyes back at the treeline, he lifts the lamp's shutter, closes it again, lifts it, writing nonsensical Morse code into the dark in a staccato beat.

At Ed's back, the old floorboards creak.

Roy doesn't scold him for standing out in the cold like this, just huffs a little in fond exasperation.

Ed smiles.

Home is where the heart is, and currently his is stepping up close to him and embracing him from behind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm up to my ears in preparations and frustrations because in little over two months I will already start working in the US. Frankly, I'm a little fed up at the moment because the offer came out of the blue, just about a month ago, and everything has turned out to be much more expensive and complicated than expected. And what do I do when I should be organizing my life? Correct, I write fanfiction like a maniac.
> 
> I'm about halfway through a RoyEd a/b/o 'verse (guilty pleasure) and was planning on finishing it as soon as possible, but then I noticed that it would work as a fill for the Royedweek prompts, so I'm not sure whether I should leave it for later.  
> I've also got the fourth part for this series in the works, named 'Old Love, Old News', which will feature amnesia (guilty pleasure #2) because angsty tropey goodness.  
> Let me know what you'd like to see first and what you thought of this meager epilogue. :D


End file.
